White Roses (The Hunger Games - Caesar Flickerman)
by willowflickerman
Summary: Caesar Flickerman: The Capitol's most famous celebrity, known right across Panem as the public face of The Hunger Games. Willow Monroe: The female tribute from District 7. She thinks he has kind eyes, he thinks she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. It's the year of the 49th Hunger Games. Has Caesar Flickerman got what it takes to love a tribute?
1. The Reaping - 49th Hunger Games

Reaping day.  
Willow sighed loudly to herself, hating the way her voice shook as she did so. Two years, two more reapings, and she'd no longer be eligible, no longer have to place her name in the enormous glass bowl that was, more often than not, synonymous with death.  
Not for the first time that week, she cursed the fact that she had been born nine days after reaping day. Still, she reasoned, better to be reaped now she was almost eighteen as opposed to when she was only just twelve...  
She pulled the blanket up tight around her chin, and snuggled back down into the thin, lumpy mastress - the reaping didn't begin until eleven thirty, and today was the one day of the year when the factory wasn't open for business. She might as well sleep a while longer.  
Twenty minutes and fifteen different positions later, Willow threw off the blanket with another sigh, this one more exasperated than nervous, and slid out of bed, almost standing on the ancient tabby cat that didn't belong to her, but which had appeared every morning like clockwork for the past year. She'd started to think she was the only one feeding it.  
It mewed whinily, and wound itself through her legs, wrapping its tail around her calf.  
"Alright, alright," she muttered at it. She slopped some milk into a chipped china bowl, and placed it by the door. The cat glanced up at her haughtily, and stuck its nose into the dish.  
"Ungrateful creature," Willow said aloud, but she still gave it half of the final slice of pork she had been saving for herself.  
The tabby gave her one last snooty look, threaded itself between her legs again, and promptly disappeared out of the window it had arrived through.  
The two didn't really like each other, but the cat was hungry and Willow refused to let it starve, so they tolerated one another. It was the best they were ever going to achieve.  
Ten minutes later, stood beneath the miserable trickle of lukewarm water that dripped from her showerhead, Willow started singing in an attempt to allay her current fears.  
She'd been scared before, that wasn't anything unusual, but reaping day brought out the best and the worst traits in everybody. Up until the moment it really mattered, people would be kinder than normal, be far more generous, but as soon as a name was pulled from that glass bowl, it became immediately apparent that loyalty only went so far, and it could easily make a person distrustful of their loved ones.  
"Not that I need to worry about anything like that..." Willow thought sadly.  
She danced around her bedroom as she dried off, desperate to remain optimistic - after this reaping, she only had one year to go, and it would be over.  
She gazed at her only decent item of clothing, the one dress of her mother's that she had managed to salvage before that awful man from the community home had sold everything within her parent's house to pay for her upkeep.  
She had worn it for the last two reapings, and she would wear it for her final one too. Pale green, with short sleeves, it fell to just below her knees, and a matching wide silk ribbon encircled her waist, tying into a neat bow in the centre of her back. The slightly gathered bodice fitted her beautifully, and all in all Willow was happy with the effect.  
She left her waist-length hair loose, attempting to tame the dark waves, but giving up almost immediately when one bounced out of her fingers as she pulled the hairbrush through it.  
She walked into town with Pam, her neighbour - they worked in the same factory - and as they entered the market place, the older woman gave her a swift hug.  
"Best of luck, girl."  
Willow forced a smile. "Thanks, Pam," she said shakily, and joined the line to file in. A quick prick of a needle drew a drop of blood from her finger, and signed her in, and she shuffled along behind a group of particularly slow group of her peers - like cattle being driven in to the slaughterhouse, she thought grimly.  
Willow felt her chest begin to tighten as more and more people began to herd into the main square, and that sense of claustrophobia began to grip her. She wasn't used to being crammed into anywhere so tightly, and she hated it, but she knew people were watching her, so she sucked it down, and dealt with it as best she could.  
7. Lumber. Allegedly, the sixth wealthiest district in Panem. Their population was around twenty-six thousand, and unless they were at death's door, every single person was here at the reaping. Attendance was, of course, mandatory.  
Willow glanced around her at the other seventeen year old girls. Most of them she knew by sight, if not to talk to, and lots of them she'd been at school with. She now worked with one or two of them at the factory, and it was with those girls that she exchanged brief nods. She knew what they were thinking - legally they were old enough to have jobs, own homes, raise families, and yet they were still eligible for the reaping. Somehow it didn't seem fair. Not that any of it was fair, she corrected herself.  
She focused her attention on the temporary stage in front of the Justice Building. Three of the four chairs were already occupied - Delta Jones and Vinnie Andrews, District 7's only living victors appeared to be resigned; Chilton Meadows, the escort from the Capitol, with his jade-green hair and royal purple suit, looked very excited and totally out of place; and Willow knew the empty chair was for Mayor Strickland, when he decided to put in an appearance.  
At precisely 11:29 Mayor Strickland pushed through the massive oak doors of the Justice Building, inclined his head curtly to Delta and Vinnie, deliberately ignored Chilton, and stepped straight up to the podium in the centre of the stage.  
As with every other year since Willow could remember, and probably many more before that, the mayor read out the story of the history of Panem, how their country had risen from the ashes of a place once called North America. The natural disasters, the battles over sustainable land masses, fires, storms, droughts, the list was endless, but it had eventually culminated in Panem, a dazzling Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts.  
Then had come the Dark Days, an uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth completely obliterated. The Treaty of Treason came into effect the following year, and the annual reminder that the Capitol never wanted a repeat of the Dark Days was born:  
The Hunger Games.  
The rules were simple. As retribution for their part in the rebellion, each of the twelve remaining districts must deliver one boy and one girl, each between the ages of twelve and eighteen, into the Capitol's custody. And from there the twenty-four teenagers, affectionately referred to as 'tributes', were imprisoned in an enormous outdoor arena, and made to fight to the death.  
The last tribute standing was known as the victor. And as a reward for winning, he or she, received a life of ease back in their district, a lifetime's supply of money from the Capitol, and the district itself received gifts, usually food, whilst the others battled starvation for another year.  
"It is both a time for repentance and thanks," the mayor concluded, and proceeded to disdainfully introduce Chilton Meadows.  
Always enthusiastic, Chilton strolled up to the podium, thanked Mayor Strickland profusely for his wonderful retelling of the nation's story, and announced cheerfully, "Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!"  
Reaping time.  
"So, without further ado, ladies first!"  
Chilton shuffled his hand around in the enormous glass sphere, and drew out a piece of paper. He paused, possibly for effect, possibly to make sure everyone was listening, but it was completely unnecessary. The town centre was so silent that even the hardest of hearing amongst them could clearly hear the stream babbling away merrily to itself - and the water was over a mile away from where they all stood packed into the square.  
The escort smoothed out the slip of paper in his slim white hands.  
"And the female tribute for District 7: Willow Monroe!"  
When she was fifteen years old, Willow had been greeted by her mother and father's foreman as she'd stepped out of the school gates. In itself, that wasn't unusual, he was often there to collect his own children and drive them up into the forest, but that day he had been wearing a tired and distressed expression, and before he'd even said anything, Willow had known what he was there to tell her.  
"Both of them?" she had whispered, and he had hung his head low and nodded the confirmation she had been dreading.  
The real impact of the news hadn't hit her until much later, when she had walked into the cold, empty house and found an apple pie sitting on the kitchen table, protected from hungry vermin by a wooden bowl. Her mother's gift to her father for their wedding anniversary.  
At that point, Willow had stumbled backwards, clutching at the wall for support, feeling her chest squeezing tighter and tighter around her heart, threatening to crush it. She had been gasping for air, unable to inhale, struggling to exhale, barely able to even move.  
That was how she felt the moment she realised her name had been called. Not somebody else's, hers.  
Willow Monroe.  
Those standing around Willow heard her sharp intake of breath and watched the colour drain from her already pale face. They knew, just as she did, that no one would volunteer for her. She had no siblings, her parents, even though they weren't allowed to volunteer, were dead, killed in a logging accident three years before, and her eighteenth birthday was the following week, making her long past the age where an older child might step up and volunteer.  
The crowd around her parted, and Willow moved numbly into the aisle, flanked immediately by two peacekeepers in white armour. They marched her down to the stage, and Willow couldn't help noticing that none of the girls met her eye. She could understand that, she'd done it enough times herself. Nobody wanted to outwardly flaunt their relief that they hadn't been chosen that year.  
Chilton Meadows beckoned her up onto the stage. His eyes held some sympathy when she found the courage to look into them, but he was professional to the hilt, leaving her beside the enormous glass sphere containing the names of all the other girls in the district, some several times over, as he skipped over to the boys bowl and rummaged around for a moment before drawing out a slip of paper.  
"And the male tribute... Ash Rogers!"  
In the back of her mind, Willow heard the anguished scream of what, she presumed, was the boy's mother, but by the time a tentative Ash stepped up onto the stage, the square was unnaturally quiet once again.  
Willow glanced briefly across at her fellow tribute. He was a good-looking youth, stocky, with dirty blond hair, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. Wide-eyed and suddenly ashen in colour, he looked utterly terrified.  
Chilton Meadows asked for volunteers, but nobody came forward to take either Willow's place, which was no surprise; nor Ash's, which was, and so Mayor Strickland stepped back up to the podium and began to read the dreary Treaty of Treason in a monotone. How many young men and women had he seen leave his district for the last time, Willow wondered vaguely?  
As the mayor finished his final speech of the day, Chilton indicated that Willow and Ash should shake hands. She noticed his were trembling, he couldn't believe how cold hers were, and then Chilton did his spiel, trying in vain, as always, to persuade the inhabitants of District 7 to applaud their selected tributes, and, as always, not a single person clapped. They simply stood in silence, even the ones who wouldn't usually care. Reaping Day, everybody knew, was not a normal day. Reaping Day was a day where unity was key. Everyone agreed: nobody in the district condoned The Hunger Games.  
The anthem of Panem played them off the stage, and the pair were promptly surrounded by an escort of peacekeepers, and marched up the front steps of the building behind them.  
They were given an hour to say goodbye to their loved ones. Willow could hear the constant click click of the door to the adjacent room where Ash had been taken. At just fourteen years old, and being the oldest child from a large family - that explained nobody volunteering for him, Willow thought - he had plenty of people sobbing over his imminent departure. Willow, however, sat alone until the final ten minutes, when the door was flung open to reveal two of her former school friends.  
Loretta grabbed her in a tight hug, Evan stood to the side of them, staring down at his feet.  
"We didn't know whether to come or not," Loretta sobbed. "It's been so long..."  
"I'm glad you did," Willow replied, untangling herself from her friend's clutches, and trying to avoid shedding the tears that threatened to spill over. She really didn't want the whole of Panem seeing her tear-stained face, and judging her on that.  
She and Loretta hadn't fallen out as such, but when Willow's parents had died and she'd had to leave school early, the two girls had grown apart, leaving District 7's latest female tribute completely alone in the world. She hadn't blamed Loretta; she knew Loretta's parents hadn't wanted her associating with a girl from the community home.  
A year she had spent there, in that despicable place that called itself a sanctuary. Just long enough to earn enough money to get herself on her feet, and back into the ramshackle house that she had lived in with her parents.  
It was hard, doing it all alone, but Willow had survived. She'd gone hungry more days than she cared to mention, and was almost always cold during the winter months, but she had persevered, worked her way up the ranks to furniture builder, which was the job she would now be leaving.  
The peacekeepers were back all too soon, pulling Loretta and Evan from the room, and leaving Willow wondering if she would ever see them, or District 7, again.

It was a short journey to the train station by car. Neither Willow not Ash had ever ridden in such a vehicle before. The gigantic, screeching lumber trucks, yes, a car, not on your life! They walked everywhere, the same as most of 7's population.  
More cameras, different reporters greeted them when they stepped onto the platform, all desperate for a shot of District 7's latest tributes. Ash had obviously been crying, so Willow gave his hand a quick squeeze before they were herded out of the car, and he smiled up at her gratefully, staying close to her throughout the photographs, ready to latch on to anyone who would take his fear seriously.  
Chilton guided them towards the train, which pulled away as soon as the doors sucked closed, and it was like stepping into another world.

She'd never been on a train before (of course she hadn't - travel between districts was prohibited), but Willow knew by sight this was no ordinary cargo train. This was one of the sleek, high-speed Capitol trains.  
"Two hundred and fifty miles per hour, and you can hardly even tell we're moving!" Chilton exclaimed with an affected grin.  
The tribute train was the most beautiful thing Willow had ever seen, filled with items made from materials she had never even heard of. She recognised the wood as mahogany - she had worked on a bespoke dining room set for the presidential mansion not so long ago, and she and Ash couldn't help but marvel over everything in sight.  
They had a bedroom each, both of which had a bathroom and a dressing area attached. Everything Willow could have ever physically needed was available to her in the confines of those rooms, and if by any chance it wasn't, all she needed to do was press a little button and a Capitol attendant would come running to do her bidding.  
"Dinner's in an hour, don't be late," Chilton advised her as he wandered away.  
Willow stood in front of the floor to ceiling mirror in her dressing area, gazing at her reflection, more than a little stunned by what she saw. When her parents had been alive, they'd had a small mirror in the bathroom, and it had been a habit to use it everyday before school, or work, depending on whether it was a weekday or a weekend, but when they died, almost everything had been sold off, and she'd lacked a looking glass ever since. Then, she had been a teenager, a little gangly and awkward-looking, but now... Now she was a woman.  
She knew, logically, of course, that she had grown up over the past few years, but seeing herself now gave her a renewed pride in her appearance. Her body curved softly in all the right places, she was slender but no longer skinny.  
She was actually quite lovely.  
Willow admired herself for a few moments longer, and then backed away, peeling off her mother's pale green dress, and laying it out carefully on the bed, it was the only thing of her mother's she had, and if by some miracle she made it out of the arena alive, she wanted to be able to take it home again.  
She showered thoroughly, enjoying every single moment of the hot water gushing out of the showerhead. She washed her hair twice, lathered herself in a lemon-scented foam, and then stood there, arms slightly outstretched, to allow all the suds to wash away.  
Finally satisfied that she was exceptionally clean, Willow stepped out of the cubicle and wrapped herself in the biggest, fluffiest towel she had ever laid eyes on, and began a search of the drawers and closet for an outfit. Chilton had told her to wear anything she wanted, so she selected a pair of light, white trousers, which fitted snugly to her hips and upper thighs, but flared out a little towards the ground, and a supple shirt the exact colour of wild raspberries.  
On closer inspection, the two items looked good together, and Willow slipped a pair of matching pink pumps onto her feet. She brushed her hair out again, and, after one final glance in the mirror, she arrived in the dining car with five minutes to spare.  
Ash was already sat waiting for her, the chair beside him occupied by Vinnie Andrews, who was halfway through a bottle of wine. Delta Jones appeared less than a minute after Willow did, and Chilton arrived last. He introduced them all formally, and sat them all down in a clearly prearranged sitting plan. Willow ended up next to Delta, who ignored Chilton and murmured conspiratorially to Willow that they'd get rid of him as soon as possible. Willow decided at that point that she liked Delta a lot.

After a large supper of rich tomato soup, beef, sliced so incredibly thin that it was almost transparent, atop a green salad, and a chocolate cake so exceedingly delicious that Willow believed she would never want to try another dessert ever again, they all congregated in the main compartment for the recap of the reapings. Despite them being staged over the course of the day, and being told they were compulsory viewing, it wasn't physically possible to watch all of them unless one was a Capitol resident, as they were the only population in Panem who didn't have to attend any reapings themselves.  
Caesar Flickerman, the Master of Ceremonies, and Claudius Templesmith, the official Announcer of The Hunger Games, presented the show, as they (or at least Caesar) had done for as long as Willow could remember. She vaguely recalled someone other than Claudius sat beside Caesar, but she couldn't put a name to the rather hazy face at that moment in time.  
Caesar Flickerman, though, was basically the face of The Hunger Games, the only regular link between the watching districts and the Capitol. He presented all the shows, hosted all the tributes' interviews, prompted the audiences to part with their money in sponsorships. Others had come and gone over the years; Caesar had remained.  
If ever an end came to this oppression, Willow knew many would call for his blood, but the tribute could see kindness in the deep brown eyes under his dyed eyebrows. When he hosted those interviews, he always tried so hard to put the tributes at ease, to bring out the best in them, and, she imagined, several of her predecessors had gained a sponsor or two after their interview with him, in spite of having had no hope of even one before.  
This year his hair and eyebrows were the colour of jay birds, and it looked rather fetching next to the twinkling, midnight-blue suit he always wore to present the Games. Chilton oohed in approval at the latest tone, Delta snorted and looked away, Ash continued to look nervous - Caesar Flickerman had always kind of scared him - and Willow watched with interest. The man certainly knew how to play an audience, she realised - he had the Capitol audiences totally eating out of the palm of his hand!  
Ash sat watching the recaps as though he were transfixed, eyeing up their fellow tributes with a combination of fear and a blossoming determination. Willow simply looked at their eyes as they walked along the aisles towards their respective stages, trying to gauge how they really felt at the moment of the biggest challenge of their lives.  
Districts 1, 2 and 4 all had volunteer tributes. They, she knew, were the career districts. The districts that trained for The Hunger Games, in spite of the fact that it was against the rules. Everybody knew it, and nobody cared. Needless to say, it was more often than not one of those three districts that claimed the victor as their own.  
Willow let Caesar's voice wash over her as they showed the District 7 reapings - she already knew, only too well, what they had been like!  
Caesar mentioned his sorrow over her lack of family, saying how sad he was for her that barely anybody had been there to say goodbye, and the audience murmured sympathetically. Willow couldn't help but wonder if the Master of Ceremonies had already aided her in her mission to gain sponsorship, but as he opened his mouth to continue about her, Claudius Templesmith cut him off, moving seamlessly on to the District 8 tributes. Caesar appeared momentarily affronted, but his professionalism swiftly took over, and he continued on with the recaps as though it had never happened.

Caesar Flickerman remembered, though, as he closed his eyes in the early hours of the following morning. He remembered how he'd felt as he'd seen her step onto the stage in District 7, her thick hair rippling down to her waist, the natural darkness of it only enhanced by the pale green of her dress.  
He tried to push the thoughts away as he dropped off to sleep. He couldn't put his feelings into words, but something had ignited deep inside of him, and although he couldn't even begin to explain it, there was something about Willow Monroe that he didn't want to ignore...


	2. The Tribute Parade

Despite seeing the power seat of Panem numerous times on the television, nothing on earth could have prepared Willow for her first real glimpse of the Capitol as they emerged from the endlessly long tunnel that cut through the natural mountain barrier, separating the ruling city from the districts.

The height of the skyscrapers, the manufactured colours of the buildings, the gleaming cars, the marble walkways, the strangely dressed people with their painted faces and hair so outlandish that they had to be wearing wigs, all made Willow feel that the cameras had been lying to her all these years. The Capitol was far lusher, so much more vibrant than she could have ever imagined in her wildest dreams.

Sensing movement behind her, Willow glanced sideways to see that Ash had joined her at the window. He was gawking even more than she was, and stated, "Wow! It's beautiful!" in that awestruck way that only a fourteen year old could do.

Willow had to agree. The scene before them was so bright, so opulent, that surely no one could fail to be impressed by it?

The pair pressed themselves closer to the glass, not wanting to miss a single detail of the city that would be the final home of at least one, possibly both, of them.

People on the street stared in at them, recognising the tribute train, and then they began to gesticulate eagerly to those around them.

Ash began to back away, startled and a little nauseated by the obvious excitement of the crowd, but Vinnie chose that moment to enter the carriage.

"One of them could be a potential sponsor," the mentor advised, "Wave. Let them see you."

"They're waiting to watch us die," Ash reminded him, disgust etched on his expressive features.

"Yeah, they are," Vinnie agreed. "And one of them might have the means to keep you alive. Smile at them. Wave."

Ash forced a grin onto his face.

Willow was in awe of the clothes, the make up, the hair, the clearly affected voices of the strangers outside. They seemed so unlike people that it was hard to imagine one of them could be her lifeline within a few days, but she knew Vinnie was right. Any one of them could be sizing her up right now, trying to decide whether or not to take a chance on her, so she put on a smile so dazzling that even Caesar Flickerman would have his work cut out to beat it, and waved until her arms ached, and then waved some more, until, finally, they pulled into the train station and were lost from view.

Willow had been in the Remake Centre for two hours by the time she eventually met her stylist.

Her prep team, Catia and Cassia, identical twins who couldn't have looked more different if they'd tried, had scrubbed her down twice with a grainy foam, waxed her body free of every single hair aside from her eyebrows and that on her head, and had applied a foul-smelling and exceedingly toxic concoction to her thick, waist-length hair. The result was so startling that Willow couldn't stop staring at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror opposite the prep table.

"That colour really suits your complexion," Catia exclaimed shrilly, in an accent so high pitched it put Chilton Meadows' to shame.

"Oh, it does, doesn't it?" her sister said, in an equally annoying voice. "I would kill to have skin as pale as yours!"

Willow couldn't help but feel that Cassia meant what she said. Having fair skin was the sort of thing these people would kill for.

"Come on, up you pop," Cassia continued. "Let's have one last look at you."

Willow stood up, and Cassia pulled away the thin robe that they had allowed the tribute to wear on and off throughout the afternoon.

"You've done so well," Catia praised Willow. "Most of you-" (Willow assumed by 'you', Catia meant her predecessors) "Most of you whine dreadfully about the waxing, and the dyes, but you've not moaned once."

Willow considered that the tributes who had come before her had probably been absolutely terrified, and that complaining about the small issues had been a way of masking their fear about their real problem - namely that they were entering the arena of death! But she kept quiet about that, and said sweetly, ""I've enjoyed every moment, I never imagined I could look so beautiful!"

Her comment won over the twins completely, and they beamed as they circled her, tweezers in hands, plucking out any previously elusive strands of hair until, finally, they exchanged a look, took a step backwards, admired their handiwork, and said in unison: "Let's call Juno."

The pair almost tripped over one another as they dashed through the door, leaving Willow standing, stark naked, in the centre of the room.

She slipped her arms into the lightweight robe, knowing she would very likely have to remove it again as soon as her stylist appeared, but not caring. She was still absolutely transfixed at the transformation of her hair.

Willow had always tried to keep it in good condition, being sure to braid it before work each morning, keeping it washed as often and as well as circumstances allowed, and she believed she'd done pretty well - certainly people in District 7 thought so, for they often commented on it. She'd been proud of her efforts.

Until now.

Now Willow knew how it really felt to have gorgeous hair that it was impossible not to touch. It was maybe three inches shorter than it had been before she'd entered the prep team's room, but now it was satin soft, glowing with health, rippling in gentle, vibrant, vivid red waves over her shoulders and back, sitting just above waist length.

Catia had been right, the colour suited her skin tone perfectly.

It was stunning.

The door opened and a young woman, who Willow assumed to be Juno, entered on a pair of impossibly high heels. Her hair was dusky pink in colour and piled on top of her head, she wore a sky blue dress that looked as though it had been sprayed on, and her eyes were outlined with mascara the exact shade of her hair.

"Hi there," she said airly. "You must be Willow?"

Willow nodded a cautious greeting.

"I'm Juno."

"My stylist, right?"

"Yep." Juno smiled willingly. "Could you take your robe off for a moment?"

Willow started to reluctantly untie the robe and then caught sight of her hair again.

"Do you like it?" Juno asked, noticing Willow staring at her reflection.

"I love it," Willow replied genuinely.

"I hoped you would," the stylist answered with a little smile. "I have a design in mind for you, and I think it'll work really well, but I just need to look at you, to be certain, then we'll have something to eat and talk, okay?"

Willow nodded again, still not quite sure that she entirely trusted a woman wearing bright pink mascara, but she'd argue later if she felt it was necessary.

Juno wandered around Willow for several silent minutes, not touching her or meeting her curious gaze, simply looking, studying her. Then her hands spanned Willow's waist and hips, and she muttered something that was unintelligible to Willow, but clearly a breakthrough to herself, because she glanced up at Willow's eyes and another satisfied smile curved her ruby red lips.

"Okay, all done! Pop your robe on, and let's eat! I'm starving!"

Willow privately thought that Juno didn't know the meaning of the word, but the tribute wisely held her tongue, following her stylist through a door and stopping at the view that greeted her.

"Nice, huh?" Juno grinned.

"Woah!" That was all Willow could manage when she finally found her voice.

If she had been impressed when the train had first pulled clear of that endless tunnel, at her initial glimpse of the Capitol, now she was totally floored.

Three of the walls surrounding her were stark and white, devoid of any colour, but the fourth...? The fourth was a single sheet of glass that looked out over the city.

And what a view it was! The buildings glistened, the windows gleamed, the pinks were so pink, the greens too bright, the yellows utterly garish, but the effect was amazing. To have a life filled with such colour, such vibrance...

"Woah," Willow repeated, this time with awe.

"Come on, let's have something to eat."

Willow sat down opposite Juno, still gazing out of the window, catching the stylist considering her thoughtfully .

"What?" she asked.

"It's just... Nothing, don't worry..." And to hide the awkward silence she seemed to know would arrive, Juno pressed a button on the tabletop beside her, and watched intently as it split open, revealing another table containing their lunch.

"Ah, lamb! One of my favourites!" Juno announced.

Willow studied the contents of her plate. The meat was about a centimetre thick, with a skinny bone protruding at one end, and it was resting on a bed of sunset orange grain into which was mixed a variety of miniature vegetables. There were rolls shaped like leaves, and for dessert, the same type of chocolate cake she'd had on the tribute train the previous evening.

Willow couldn't imagine always living in a world where food appeared the second you sent for it. What did these people do with their lives?

The pair ate without speaking, but as soon as Willow had scraped up her last forkful of cake, Juno launched into conversation once more:

"So, Willow, your costume for the opening parade..."

Here it comes, Willow thought glumly, I'm going to be dressed as a tree. District 7 were almost always dressed as trees...

"As you know, it's customary for your outfit to reflect your district's primary resource."

A tree, for sure.

"But my partner - that is, Ash's stylist - and I think the whole tree thing is incredibly overdone, so..." Juno paused, watching Willow's face almost contort with nervous tension. "So we're going to concentrate on the leaves instead."

Willow wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more apprehensive.

"It's not going to be indecent, is it?"

Juno grinned at her expression. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I honestly think you're going to adore it!"

Several hours later, Willow and Ash were stood side by side in one of the heavy opening ceremony chariots, dressed in complementary outfits. The harnessed horses pawed restlessly at the ground but made no attempt to move.

Willow gave Ash's hand another quick squeeze as the opening drums began to pound, vibrating the very foundations of the Remake Centre. They could hear the crowds screaming wildly in the distance, feel the rush of anticipation, and then the massive doors slid open, and the first chariot began to roll away.

"There are literally thousands of spectators here tonight, all desperate to get a good look at this year's tributes! The sponsors are waiting impatiently to see them, hoping to make some decisions over their sponsorships, and I am just dying to see our latest recruits!"

Caesar sounded, as he always did at this time during The Hunger Games, as excited as a child in a candy store. He had such admiration for the tributes, adored having the opportunity to meet them in person whilst he interviewed them - it was only once he heard the first booms of the cannon as it tolled the dead after the cornucopia bloodbath that the tragedy of it all washed over him. Every year, twenty-three young people died for the Capitol's entertainment in the name of being a 'reminder' of the Dark Days in Panem.

Caesar Flickerman had always been destined to become a face of The Hunger Games. His father had been a head gamemaker, one of the only men who'd held that title to actually retire. His mother, before her marriage to his father, had been an escort, and. his elder sister had followed in their mother's footsteps. Caesar, however, was the one who had found the most fame from the Games. He'd displayed no creativity whatsoever during his short tenure as a gamemaker - in fact, he feared he'd rather embarrassed his parents with his lack of flair - but he'd discovered he had an ability to calm people down and get them talking, and so he began interviewing the District tributes before they went into the arena.

Caesar's first three years as the Master of Ceremonies had passed in a blur of drink and drugs - they'd helped him to forget... And then the gamemakers had put a halt to that by hurling him into rehab. He had emerged, six months later, a changed man, determined to make a difference to those teenagers whose lives were going to end so suddenly.

He made sure to be friendly to even the most sullen of the tributes, laughed at the weakest of jokes, and became adept at turning the most feeble answers into memorable ones purely by the way he responded. The Capitol audiences adored him from his first show, and over the years, they came to love him, running up to him in the street to have their photographs taken with him, live audiences hollering his name when he appeared.

In short, he became a celebrity, one of Panem's brightest stars.

This Hunger Games marked his fifteenth year as Master of Ceremonies, and in that time he'd met three hundred and sixty tributes, watched three hundred and forty-five of them die, and had interviewed just fifteen victors. It was heartbreaking work, really, Caesar thought.

As the camera began to pan slowly round to him once more, Caesar placed his dazzling trademark grin back on his face, and his voiced boomed out as the opening music of the tributes parade began.

"And here they come! From District 1 - Jewel and Bourne - don't they look stunning?!"

On and on Caesar went, praising the costumes, the inventiveness of the stylists, the attributes of the contestants, never once sounding bored or unhappy at what he was having to do, and it wasn't until the District 7 chariot pulled out of the training centre that Caesar felt the urge to stop talking.

The chariot was being pulled by two perfectly matched chestnut horses, their brass shining so brightly that it still glimmered in the fading light of the evening. Instead of the usual white roses, deep forest-green vines were tangled around the chariot as decoration, and the two tributes therein appeared to be an extension of that. The boy, who couldn't have been much more than thirteen, was dressed in a green tunic embroidered with soaring gold birds, a crown of vines placed on his head. He looked absolutely terrified, Caesar thought, with a pang of sadness.

The young woman beside him, though - Willow - she was something else... She stood solidly in the rumbling chariot, a quiet dignity exuding from her very being. She looked proud without being haughty, and determined with no air of defiance. Her once-dark locks were now flaming red, and tumbled over her shoulders in luxurious waves, her lips almost matched the colour of her hair, and the art encircling her eyes was nothing short of stunning. Her dress was tailored to perfection, the green and gold bodice moulded to the soft contours of her body, the floating chiffon leaves that made up the skirt rippling in the gentle breeze.

Then she turned, gazing straight into the camera that was following her, and Caesar's throat dried up as he looked into those green eyes. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, a voice was telling Caesar that the entire population of Panem was getting exactly the same image as he was, and they probably hadn't lost the ability to speak, but he couldn't seem to make himself do anything.

Seated beside Flickerman, Claudius Templesmith rather abruptly realised that his colleague had lost the power of speech, and had taken over swiftly as Caesar sat staring at the screen, utterly mesmerised by the District 7 chariot.

Claudius was introducing the District 9 tributes when Caesar finally came out of his trance, looking around in amazement, clearly wondering where the last few minutes had gone, and the announcer glanced at the Master of Ceremonies curiously, wondering what, exactly, had been so special about Willow Monroe.

"You were amazing!"

"That was brilliant!"

Praise was coming from all angles, and Willow couldn't help but blush just a little at it all, thinking that she hadn't really done very much to warrant such admiration, and she said as much to her prep team.

"God, the crowds loved you!" Cassia exclaimed.

"They did," Catia agreed, nodding her head so furiously she was in danger of losing her wig.

"Come on, let's get upstairs." Delta was all business now they were in the Training Tower - that, Willow discovered was where the tribute parade concluded, shortly after President Coriolanus Snow, ruler of Panem, had made his welcome speech.

The prep teams, Willow's and Ash's, continued to chat as the group crowded into the elevator, and shot upwards, reaching floor seven in record time.

They piled into the apartment set aside for them. Chilton and Vinnie made a dash for the drinks cabinet, Delta threw herself on the sofa, joined immediately by the prep teams, and Juno and Antonio guided Willow and Ash respectively through to their bedrooms to help them remove their outfits.

"So, what did you think of the dress?" Juno asked.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," Willow replied, her words utterly genuine.

"You certainly made an impression on someone who was watching," the stylist said.

"Really?"

"Hmm, Caesar Flickerman couldn't stop staring at you."

Willow's head snapped up.

"Don't be daft," she said with a giggle.

"He couldn't," Juno insisted. "Claudius Templesmith had to take over because he just stopped talking the moment he saw you."

Willow raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I used to work for him," Juno informed her. "I've never seen him lose his concentration like that before. Not ever." And with that, the stylist turned on her heel and stepped from the room.

After a light supper, Delta ordered Willow and Ash straight off to bed, citing the excuse that they had a big day ahead of them tomorrow. It was, as if they needed reminding, their first day of training.

They obeyed, but Willow lay awake long into the night, unable to stop thinking about what the next few days would bring, whether they would prepare her enough to survive both the arena and her fellow tributes, and, indeed, whether or not what Juno had told her about Caesar Flickerman was true.

Eventually the tribute gave up trying to sleep, wandering through to the main living space and curling up on the blue velvet sofa. She flicked through a couple of books, found them to be of little interest, and so turned on the television. It blared into life, and Willow hastily turned the volume down, hoping she hadn't disturbed anyone's beauty sleep - Chilton certainly needed it, even if nobody else did!

As usual, the highlights of the day's Hunger Games events were playing, and Willow settled down to watch the tributes parade, thinking it may be useful to know how her intended adversaries presented themselves to a crowd. It was entertaining, to say the least...The way Jewel smiled charmingly, and waved to her fans, was a far cry from the poker-faced tribute Willow had met the previous day.

She continued to watch, shuffling upwards curiously as Caesar Flickerman began to announce the District 7 tributes, or rather, Ash and herself, and it wasn't possible to ignore the fact that the Master of Ceremonies simply stopped halfway through his introductions, his dark eyes trained on the screen in front of him, and then Willow saw what he was seeing.

There was a close-up shot of her eyes, and even to her, they looked full of life, and light, and promise, and she knew then... Knew that Juno had been right. She, little Willow Monroe from District 7, had stopped Caesar Flickerman in his tracks.

She couldn't help but wonder what he'd seen when he'd looked at her. Had he seen a frightened young woman, or had he seen someone who would do whatever it took to survive? Right now, he'd have been correct on either score. Willow was terrified. And determined. She wanted to get out of that arena alive.

And, almost unbelievably, considering her current circumstances, she wanted to know how Caesar Flickerman felt about her.


	3. Training & Technical Issues

Morning had arrived too quickly for Willow's liking. She'd sat up until the end of the tribute parade recap, studying the people who would soon be her adversaries, watching Caesar Flickerman, and then she'd returned to bed, and fallen into such a heavy sleep that she'd bolted upright a few hours later, completely unsure as to where she was.  
The truth had hit her though, once she'd laid there for several minutes - she was in the Capitol, she was a part of The Hunger Games, in fact she had a starring role...  
Taking several deep breaths in order to calm herself, Willow slipped out of bed, her toes sinking into the plush purple carpet, and she finally took a moment to have a look around.  
She hadn't taken much notice of where she'd been housed the previous evening, what with the success of the tribute parade behind her and the thought of a hot meal in front of her, not forgetting Juno's revelation about Caesar's reaction to her entrance, but now she gazed about her in absolute amazement.  
Her bedroom alone was probably bigger than the entire house Willow had lived in back in District 7, and that didn't include the dressing room which was off to one side, nor the bathroom to the other. Her quarters were simple, stylish, but Willow could almost sense the expense of each pillow, she could feel the luxury beneath her bare feet. There were so many different automatic gadgets, one even changed the scenery outside her floor to ceiling window. The shower cubicle alone held a panel with over seventy different buttons, allowing the bather to regulate the water temperature, the soap, the shampoo, the moisturizing lotions, even which type of sponge to use. Willow stepped out onto a mat, and immediately heaters came on and blow-dried her body. To dry her hair, all she needed to do was place her hands on a box, and a current zipped through her head, untangling her thick hair and drying it instantly into exactly the same style that Catia and Cassia had put it in the previous day. It was, all in all, the most opulent of prison cells.  
Willow flipped through the keypad on the front of the wardrobe, selecting an outfit very similar to the one she had chosen on the tribute train. This one, though, comprised of a pair of black lightweight trousers as opposed to white ones, and a fitted emerald green silk shirt with short, lightly puffed sleeves. A pair of black pumps completed the look, and with one last twirl in front of the enormous mirror, Willow ventured out into the hallway, following the corridor until she came to the main living area.  
There was no one about as she wandered through, but over by the dining table, a buffet had been arranged, and as she approached it with hungry interest, a male avox appeared from nowhere.  
Willow jumped when she noticed him, and exclaimed, "Oh, you startled me!" And then, remembering her conversation with Chilton the previous night, about how avoxes were not to be spoken to unless they were being asked either a question or to do one's bidding, she added, "Can I serve myself?"  
The avox nodded, and Willow piled her plate high with eggs, lightly toasted bread and several varieties of melon, carrying it carefully over to the table, where she sat facing the window, watching in wonder as the rising sun painted the sky a zesty orange, vibrant pink, dusky purple, and then she saw the avox man slip away once he was certain she was settled with her food.  
Avoxes. Willow had been both shocked and horrified the day before, when Chilton had explained that avoxes were people who had had their tongues cut out, that they had usually committed some crime or other against the Capitol, and were forced into servitude as a lifetime punishment - as if being unable to ever speak again wasn't enough, the tribute thought sadly.  
The man was from the Capitol, Willow was certain of it. He had that Capitol look about him, etched in his very features, like Chilton, like her prep team, like Juno, and she couldn't help but wonder what he had done to afford him the punishment of becoming an avox.  
Willow didn't know what made her think of it, possibly the realisation that the man wouldn't be allowed contact with his family, if he had one, possibly that he would, effectively, be completely alone in the world, but suddenly Willow gasped aloud as she remembered the tabby cat who managed to get himself through her kitchen window each morning for breakfast. Was he sat there, she wondered, waiting for her? Had he eaten the day before? Would anyone take pity on him now she had gone? And the thought of the scraggly old animal slowly starving to death made her push her plate away in disgust.  
She was still sat there, berating herself for forgetting to tell Pam about him, when Vinnie appeared at the table beside her.  
"You alright? You're very pale."  
"I forgot to tell my neighbour to feed the cat that visits me." Willow replied miserably.  
Vinnie looked at her in something approaching confusion. "I'm sure it'll hunt if it's hungry."  
Willow shook her head, tears in her eyes.  
"He's old, he can barely walk sometimes."  
"It's just a cat, Willow."  
"Maybe so, but it was all I really had."  
And the terrible thing, Willow realised as she walked back to her room and threw herself on the bed, was that her statement was largely true. The animal only came to see her because it was hungry, and she barely tolerated it, but it had been the one constant thing in her life for a year, and she missed it.  
"I hate that cat," she whispered into her damp pillow, but she knew what she really hated was herself for forgetting about him, she knew what she really hated was The Hunger Games for taking her away from home.

When she woke again, a few hours later, Willow's hair had plastered itself to her cheek where her tears had dried, and she felt groggy as hell, but her anxiety over the cat had eased. She'd often mentioned him to Pam, and she was sure the older woman would throw him a tidbit or two if she saw him hanging around - that was the sort of person Pam was.  
Willow shuffled into the bathroom, cleaned her teeth, rinsed her face, stared at her reflection, and when she remerged several minutes later, she found an outfit waiting for her on her ruffled bed. Brown combats, similar to those her parents had worn for work, but with far fewer pockets, and a khaki green, capped sleeve, fitted t-shirt.  
Willow peeled off the linen trousers and the silk shirt, flinging them onto the bed she had just vacated, kicked the pumps into a corner of her dressing room, and pulled on her training clothes. She made the decision to braid her long hair, considering it would be rather a hindrance when trying to handle weapons and the like. She was just lacing the second heavy boot when someone rapped on the door.  
"Come on, sleepyhead, time to get ready!"  
Delta jumped back when Willow opened the door, clearly surprised to find the tribute not only ready to go, but looking remarkably refreshed. That was the bonus with having a naturally porcelain white complexion, Willow thought, not for the first time in her life, nobody could really tell when you looked pale.  
Barely ten minutes later, an apprehensive Willow and a jittery Ash had been deposited in the elevator to make their way down to the Training Arena. They were alone, as only the tributes, the instructors and the gamemakers were permitted on that floor of the Training Centre.  
Aside from the previous evening, when she had been so exhilarated that she'd scarcely even noticed where she was, Willow had only ever been in an elevator once before, at the Justice Building back in District 7, to register the deaths of her parents. She remembered her chest tightening, the feeling of claustrophobia gripping her, and that feeling was quickly returning to her. She suddenly, desperately, wanted to be out in the fresh air, up in the trees. Free.  
She tried to calm down before they arrived at the training floor, the thought of everyone knowing her weakness was even more terrifying to her than being trapped in that small metal box, and she tried hard not to rush out when the doors slid open.  
They were faced with a room already half-filled with tributes. Jewel, the career from District 1, was the first recruit they made eye contact with. She was either not a morning person, or her poker-faced demeanor had done battle with the laughing, waving attitude she had had the previous evening, and won by a mile. Either way, she looked like meant business.  
Willow and Ash joined the loose circle that was gradually forming around one of the instructors, and as soon as all the tributes were accounted for, the man introduced himself as Atticus, the head trainer. He swiftly explained the training schedule - how many times had he done so before now, Willow found herself wondering - and told them that the tributes were forbidden to engage one another in combat.  
"Save that for the arena," he said darkly.  
He went on to give them a brief description of each training station, saying that experts were available at each one if the tributes needed assistance or wanted to practice anything. They were permitted to go wherever they wanted, or as per their mentor's advice. They would get two and a half days of training, and for the final half day, they would take it in turns to show the gamemakers what they could do, what they had learned, and from there they would receive their training scores.  
Willow was the first person to take heed of Atticus's advice. The training instructor had made a point of telling the tributes not to ignore the survival skills stations, so whilst everyone else headed to the fighting or weapons stations, Willow started at the edible plants one, and from there, she went on to snare-setting and swimming, finally meeting Ash at the hand-to-hand combat station.  
The pair spent some time there together before the buzzer announced it was lunchtime, and although she tried a few times, Willow's heart wasn't really in her attempts to form any alliances with her counterparts. Was solitude going to be her strategy, Willow wondered, realising that neither Delta nor Vinnie had given her or Ash much in the way of advice as to how they should play it. Staying alone had worked for victors in the past - for Vinnie, in fact. The district 7 mentor had kept to the trees as much as possible, only coming down for water and when his food stocks had run low. The theory had served him well until only he and two other tributes had remained, and even then, the forest had been his friend, providing him with the means to build a trap to catch the others.  
Possibly not a dumb idea, she thought. It at least meritted careful consideration...  
After a light lunch, they herded back into the training room, and Willow returned to the snare-setting station, not so much as to go more in-depth with the skill, but to take stock of the other twenty-three tributes in action.  
In plain clothes and beavering away at their selected stations, it became immediately apparent to Willow that all of the boys, with the exception of Ash, were larger than her, as were at least half of the girls. Unlike her though, many of them hadn't ever had a substantial meal before arriving in the Capitol. She could see it in their bones, in their sunken cheeks, in the dullness of their eyes. Willow knew the look. At sixteen years old, just starting to go it alone after beginning work at the factory, she had started to look like that, had been hungry all the time. It wasn't something easily forgotten, but fate had smiled kindly on the Monroe girl, she'd been promoted to a furniture maker, and gradually life had improved, and with it, her standard of living. The decent meat and vegetables had given her an edge over many of her fellow tributes.  
The exceptions, of course, were the tributes from the wealthier districts, namely 1, 2 and 4, all of whom were trained, from a very young age, for the honour of entering The Hunger Games. Against the rules or not, the training helped them considerably, and like or not, the victor was likely to be one of them.  
Willow sighed, but she wasn't about to go down easily. If the careers wanted a fight, she'd sure as hell make sure she had the skills to give them one!

By the time their first day's training was over, Willow had practiced tying knots and lighting fires. Fire making was something she had been taught to do from about five years old, but, she reasoned, there was no harm in refreshing her memory - who knew what types of things she would have to make a fire with?  
She finished the session at the knife station, where the instructor showed her the best places on the body to incapacitate an enemy, and then the most effective way to slit throats. Willow practised the techniques until the dummies bled fake blood every single time, and she stepped back into the elevator at 5pm feeling tired and drained and terrified. In three days time, she would be entering an unseen arena with these people, and she would be expected to either kill them, or be killed by them.  
The speed of the elevator, the tight proximity of the walls around her, the sudden, horrifying realisation of what she was going to have to do overwhelmed Willow, and she only just managed to swallow the nausea down until she made it back to level seven, where she hurtled out of the metal box, across the hallway, and straight into her bathroom, where she threw up violently for what seemed like hours, before finally sinking back onto the floor beside the shower.  
Delta found her there, trembling with shock, and wrapped an arm around her.  
"Just sunk in, huh?"  
Willow gazed up at her mentor with tears in her eyes.  
"I don't think I can do this," she whispered.  
"You don't have a choice," Delta replied with a tremor in her voice.

Willow's dreams were haunted that night, a freakish mixture of all her fears, all her worries, all her desires, and she stumbled through to the main living area at 9am, feeling like she hadn't slept at all.  
Delta gave the tribute an encouraging smile when she appeared a few moments later, and ended up almost force feeding her a bread roll and some fruit for breakfast, before pushing her unceremoniously into the shower.  
"Buck up, Willow," the mentor said through gritted teeth. "You show the others that your heart's not in this, they'll pick you off before the bloodbath is over!"  
Willow cried as she washed her hair, and she sobbed as she pulled on her training outfit, but as she braided her flaming hair, a spark reignited within her when she remembered something her mother had told her many years before - "Having something to fight for makes you strong". At the time, Willow hadn't really understood, but recalling it now made her think of her parents who had, no matter how bad things got, always kept fighting to make themselves and their only child a better life. And if they could do it, so could she. And so, the Willow who stepped onto the training floor at 9:55am was cool, calm and, most of all, ready to do whatever it took to keep herself alive.  
Willow concentrated on the weapons stations that day - a second go with the knives, archery, and the swords. Then she climbed a few pretend trees, and went through the motions with an axe without letting on just how proficient she was at both. Her parents had been lumberjacks, some of the best District 7 had to offer, and Willow had been given her first axe for her third birthday. That one had been blunted, but by the time she was six, she was as good with an axe as she was at weaving unseen through the treetops... If she were to have any advantage in the arena, the combination of those two skills would be it.

The tributes were halfway through eating lunch when the lights flickered twice and then died abruptly. The whirring of the air conditioning was silenced, and Atticus hollered to be heard above the gasps and shrieks of surprise from both the tributes and trainers alike.  
The twenty-four tributes were guided out of the dining hall, and led gingerly across the training floor to the emergency exit situated behind the elevator shaft.  
They trooped in single file up the staircase, each pair being deposited at their designated floor by peacekeepers, and told that they would be called back as soon as the problem was resolved.  
Willow and Ash waited as patiently as they could, both remaining in their training outfits until it became obvious that they were not going to be called back that day.  
Chilton was called down to the foyer just before dinner, and he arrived back thirty minutes later with a sombre expression on his face.  
"There's some issue or other with the electrics in the training room. Right the way through. No lights, no computers, no anything." He paused, and the small group looked up at him expectantly . "So, we'll just have to wait," he concluded lamely, when nobody spoke.  
"Will they still get the remainder of their training time, their private sessions with the gamemakers?" Vinnie asked after they'd all digested the information.  
"Oh, yeah," Chilton replied, nodding vigorously. "The gamemakers wouldn't have them going in with no scores - it'd throw everything out, the sponsorships, the bets... everything really!"  
Vinnie was silent, Delta just nodded.  
"Then we wait."  
They heard no more for the rest of that day, and nothing for most of the next, but at three o'clock on the day they originally should have entered the arena, Chilton was called downstairs again, returning with the news that engineers had been transported in from District 3 to fix the faulty training room, but that it would still take several hours of work. Therefore, due to the restlessness of the Capitol's residents over the lack of Hunger Games action, the gamemakers had scheduled an extra interview, taking place that night, in order to fill the gap.  
The prep teams squealed in horror at the unexpected change in events - "We haven't got anything for you to wear!"  
When Delta finally managed to calm them down, they all agreed that Willow and Ash should wear what they were supposed to have worn for the interview before they entered the arena, and that new outfits would be designed for that night.

As such, four hours later, waxed, polished, buffed and made up, Willow found herself waiting in line for her first meeting with Caesar Flickerman.


	4. Interview Of The Year

Caesar Flickerman just adored this moment.  
He was relaxed in his chair on the darkened stage, and the quiet chattering of a ten thousand strong live audience was almost at the level of a roar, but it was nothing to how it would sound the moment the music started.  
He always demanded a few minutes alone before he started the tributes' interviews, the calm before the storm, as it were. Though this year was different, perhaps because it was different, Caesar had felt even more of a need to become one with the stage.  
He gave a curt nod of the head to the guy waiting at the stage curtain, who promptly disappeared from view, and seconds later his theme tune started playing, just quietly enough for him to hear at first, and then suddenly it was blasting across the vast studio, and the lights were brightening to reveal his silhouette. As his chair began to rotate, he placed his dazzling trademark grin on his face and a booming voice announced:  
"Ladies and gentlemen, introducing your Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman!"  
By the time Caesar was facing the crowd, every single person, as far as the eye could see, was on their feet, hands clapping wildly above their heads, whistles, yells of approval, cheers, displaying sheer excitement at the evening that was to come.  
"Thankyou! Thankyou, and welcome to the 49th annual Hunger Games!"  
The noise increased tenfold, and Caesar's beaming smile widened along with it.  
"As you know, due to some technical issues in the training centre, we have the unprecedented privilege of meeting the tributes not once, but twice before they enter the arena!" Caesar held up one finger and then two to emphasize his point, and it had the desired effect, for the audience dissolved into applause again before they'd even finished their first ovation.  
"I have to say, I'm very excited about this opportunity! Are you excited?"  
Another cheer almost raised the roof of the studio.  
"In that case, what are we waiting for? Please join me in welcoming a gem amongst women, from District 1, it's Jewel!"  
Always the same, Caesar thought, trying not to feel disdainful as Jewel strutted onto the stage. Tousled blonde hair, smoky eyes, a tightly fitted gown that clung to every curve - not the girl's fault, of course, she would have had little, if any, say in what she wore, but couldn't the District 1 stylist come up with another angle for the female tribute? Year after year, the exact same look...  
Each interview was supposed to last five minutes, although there was always a little leniency on the timing. Invariably some ran over, whilst other tributes were so obviously uncomfortable with their surroundings that it was usually safer to get them off the stage before they damaged their chances of sponsorship with their ineloquence or their physical inability to speak to a crowd - the Capitol audiences could be distinctly unforgiving when it came to a lack of flair, Caesar had discovered over the past fifteen years.  
As always, Caesar did his utmost to help each tribute sparkle during their time in the spotlight. He chuckled at nervous jokes, sensed the right questions to ask each individual, and was unfailingly friendly. There had been a couple of seemingly sullen recruits this year, he'd noticed, when he'd been reporting on the opening parade, but the first twelve tributes passed through the interviews without incident. The smilers, the shy ones, the ones living it up for the camera, all playing some kind of angle. The hulking boy from 1, Bourne, was ruthless, determined. Ava, the girl from 2, was stealthy. The boy from 5 was very quiet, clearly wanting to escape the stage as soon as was decently possible.  
And then came Willow Monroe, the green-eyed girl he had been waiting to meet ever since she had rendered him speechless at the tribute parade.  
As soon as she appeared in the wings, just within his line of vision, Caesar knew she was going to have the exact same effect on him that night.  
Dressed in a demure jay-blue gown, almost the exact same shade as his hair, with her flaming red curls tumbling loosely over her pale shoulders, she was the vision of understated beauty in Caesar's eyes, and it seemed as though the audience agreed, for they cheered themselves hoarse the second she emerged, calling her name, and making her blush.  
Her hand was trembling when Caesar took it gently in his fingers, and he cupped the other over it in reassurance as he guided her to the chair beside his own.  
"So, Willow," he said, in that voice he reserved for only a select few people - namely just his family and a few close friends, those who knew him as Caesar Flickerman, not Caesar Flickerman: Face of The Hunger Games. "Tell me about life in District 7."  
Willow's voice was soft but clear as she gave a very brief summary of life in 7. He knew there wasn't really much she could say without disclosing how bad life could actually be in the various districts of Panem, and so he asked her what she missed most about home.  
"The roses... and the dancing," she replied, without hesitation, and he knew her answer came from the heart.  
"Roses?"  
She smiled at the look of curiousity that accompanied his question, and nodded.  
"We only have one rose bush in 7... Huge, beautiful, white roses."  
"Brightens up any room, I'm guessing?"  
Willow smiled reflectively, and shook her head.  
"No," she answered, "It's owner is rather... protective... of it, so I've never had the opportunity to own one..."  
Caesar smiled again at the wistfulness in her tone, and moved on, still aware that the clock was ticking on his time with het.  
"And dancing?"  
Her thickly lashed green eyes brightened even more at his words, and she grinned.  
"Hmm... We dance a lot - births, weddings, funerals... anything really."  
Caesar looked thoughful momentarily.  
"Would you, ah, care to show us a few steps of your favourite dance?"  
Willow gazed back at him levelly.  
"Well," she said at length, "My favourite dance requires two people... so I can only show you if you'll dance with me..."  
Caesar, for some reason, hadn't considered the fact that she might require a partner, but he heard the audience then, the voices clamouring for him to assist her. He paused for a moment, but she was already on her feet, expectant, holding out her fingers to him, and he took them with a shy smile at her, and a grin at the roaring crowd seated above them.  
As she took his other hand and placed it on her slender waist, Caesar's entire body physically jolted, and he stood wondering if she'd felt it too. He thought for a moment that he was being stupid, wondered why she would possibly fall for someone like him when there was, in all likelihood, a queue of men back in Distict 7 just waiting for a chance to be in his position right now, but then she looked up into his eyes, and he saw those green emeralds were flecked with gold, and the sight mesmerized him.  
Willow's lips were moving, but Caesar couldn't make out what she was saying. All he could hear was the fuzzy yelling of the audience and his own heart hammering against his ribcage - it sounded so unnaturally loud to his ears that he was surprised nobody else could hear it.  
Her body felt firm yet supple beneath his touch, the type of body that only came from years of physical labour, and Caesar couldn't help but wonder exactly what she did back in 7, but her gentle voice was pulling him back to the present moment.  
"It's kind of: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3... It's quite quick."  
"Okay," he replied quietly, their anticipatory audience now completely forgotten.  
Caesar easily picked up the fairly basic tempo of the dance she was teaching him, simply unable, rather than unwilling, to break eye contact with her. He could feel the chiffon skirt of her gown floating around his legs as they spun across the stage several times before coming to a gradual halt where they'd begun a minute or so before.  
They stood there, still in the hold of the dance, gazing at one another intently, and that was when he did it.  
Caesar lowered his head, and pressed his lips against her cheek.  
Even above the joyful screams and awed gasps of the crowds, he heard Willow exhale, felt her lean into him just a little, wondered if he'd imagined hearing her groan softly when he'd jumped back as he'd heard the irrate voice of the show's producer in his earpiece, yelling at him that the schedule only allowed him five minutes with each tribute, not ten!  
Although Caesar considered ten minutes to be a gross exaggeration, he got the hint. Still holding Willow's hand, he bade her goodbye for now, but he couldn't deny that he felt unusually incomposed as he introduced her male counterpart onto the stage, and, indeed, for the remainder of the interviews.

The live, primetime show had taken just over two hours to film, and after he'd signed off for the day, Caesar had set about doing a little research, which had finally culminated in the late-night rousing of a disgruntled florist, and skulking about in the dim alleyway behind the Training Centre, trying to convince a suspicious Avox to do what he asked.  
Thus, it was almost daylight when the Master of Ceremonies eventually collapsed into bed, and he fell asleep thinking of gold-flecked green eyes, white roses, and dancing in District 7.


	5. Official Portraits

Willow awoke early the following morning. In truth she'd only really dozed on and off throughout the night, for her mind continued to slide back to her interview, to her dance with Caesar Flickerman, to the unexpected kiss he had planted on her cheek after their dance had ended...  
The audience had gone absolutely crazy. Seeing their beloved Master of Ceremonies learn the quaint, traditional dance of District 7, particularly from a young woman possessing such natural beauty that even her right-on-trend stylist had barely altered her appearance, combined with the tender kiss, had driven the Capitol wild with delight, and they had clapped and screamed and cheered, some had even gasped with pleasure.  
And Caesar... How had Caesar felt about it, Willow wondered? She stepped beneath the warm, soothing water of the shower, not really taking much notice of which button she pressed for soap. What had possessed him to kiss her? Or, rather, what had made him kiss her on the cheek? A kiss on the hand of a female tribute wasn't anything unusual for him, but Willow didn't think she'd ever seen him kiss anyone on the cheek before.  
Did he like her? Did he find her attractive? At the time, she thought she'd felt him start when she'd rested his hand on her waist, considered that his deep brown eyes may have been a little kinder than usual when he'd spoken to her, but now she couldn't help but question her thoughts, to wonder if maybe she was overthinking it, that she'd mistaken his kindness for something more, and she tried in vain to shake the images away.  
So what if he did like her, anyway? It wasn't as though anything could ever happen between them; in all likelihood, she'd be dead next week, but even that knowledge didn't stop her feeling his kiss each and every time a droplet of water landed on her cheek.

Finally comfortably dressed in loose white linen trousers, and a jade-green shirt, Willow wandered through to the main living area, her eyes glancing over the selection of breakfast items with interest before she decided she wasn't hungry, and she flapped the hovering Avox away with the comment that she'd serve herself if she changed her mind.  
He disappeared, and Willow moved around the gigantic room restlessly for several minutes before eventually deciding to head up onto the roof of the training centre. Delta, Willow felt sure, would guess where she was, even if everyone else was clueless.  
She took the steps slowly, certain there must be a camera trained on the stairwell, and that armed peacekeepers would appear at any moment to wrestle her back to level seven, but they didn't, so she made it to the roof without incident.  
The roof garden was the only place in the training tower where the tributes could be outside. Delta had shown it to Ash and herself on the eve of their first full day in the Capitol, knowing they were used to being outside, understanding that it was basically crucial to their sanity, and therefore, their survival. She knew because, during her Games, access to the roof hadn't been permitted. Being stuck indoors for seven days, for a lumberjack, was both physically and mentally draining.  
Willow trailed slender fingers quickly through the coloured windchimes, and they tinkled and jangled in a harmony such as she'd never heard before, and then she meandered from plant to plant, flower to flower, examining each one of them curiously, gleaning what information she could about them, before pausing for a few moments to sit on the marble bench and watch the sun rise.  
Dawn was beautiful in the Capitol; the colours in the sky seemed to almost be an extension of the buildings, the streets, the people. She had never seen such vibrance in District 7, and she doubted any other district had either. There was something about the Capitol, something that made it unique. It wasn't just the brightness, there was a vitality here that everywhere else in Panem lacked.  
Once the colours had faded to a faint purple, Willow crept through the roof door and headed back down the stairs, as quietly as she had left, to floor seven. Her caution, however, was utterly unnecessary, for Ash and Delta were already seated at the table, Vinnie, as was usual for this time of day, was nowhere in sight, and Chilton was hopping around the breakfast bar when she slipped into the room. They all looked up as she closed the door softly behind her, and watched her as she walked across the room to join Chilton in choosing some breakfast.  
Having selected several slices of cold meat, various cheeses, a roll and her usual variety of melon, Willow wandered back towards the table, plate in hand, heading for a vacant chair on the opposite side of the dining room.  
"What?" she asked quizzically, when she realised they were all still staring at her.  
"You have a present," Delta announced in as level a tone as she could muster.  
Willow's brows knitted together slightly as she approached the table, and glanced down to follow her mentor's eyeline.  
There, resting between the two rows of cutlery in her designated space, was an enormous, silken, creamy white rose.  
Willow gazed at it in absolute awe for a full minute before she finished inching her way around the dining table, and took it gently in her fingers. Being careful of the thorns, she lifted it to her face, and inhaled deeply. The flower smelled sweet, and fresh, and it made her really yearn for home for the first time since she'd arrived in the Capitol, the mere scent transporting her right back to Elsie Dunwoody's front yard.  
She stopped when she caught the male Avox watching her curiously. He had been in attendance at breakfast every day since they'd been here, and she couldn't help wondering if it was he who had placed it there before anyone else had risen that morning, and the thought suddenly struck her that she had no idea as to who had sent it.  
Or did she?  
Willow kept the rose beside her whilst she ate, ocassionally putting down her knife and fork to pick it up and caress the soft petals, her thoughts unable to focus on anything but who had sent it to her... She had an inkling, but could she really be right?  
Shortly after breakfast Chilton received word that the training centre was still not fit to be used, so their session was to be put back another day. Therefore they all had another twenty-four hours of doing very little. Chilton and Vinnie disappeared shortlyafter the message came through, in the hope of finding a sponsor or two during the lull, leaving Delta in charge of the pair of tributes.  
The three of them snuggled into the plush comfort of the velvet sofas, where Ash promptly stuck his head into a book - he was taking full advantage of this trip when it came to his literary progress, Willow thought with an inward smile.  
Delta flicked on the television, and they were instantaneously greeted by the sight of a previous Hunger Games contender being blown to smithereens by a landmine. Willow looked away, hoping that wasn't going to be her in a few days time.  
Thankfully, if that was the right word, they were only subjected to the highlights of that Games, and then came a recap of the previous night's interviews.  
Willow sat watching in wonder at how relaxed and cool the first few districts appeared to be - she'd been shaking like a leaf when she'd walked out onto the stage, and it was only when Caesar Flickerman had taken her hand as he'd welcomed her that her nerves had eased a little. He'd been so steadying, so calm, that she'd felt some of the fear seep away as he'd helped her build up a rapor with the ten thousand strong live audience. He hadn't played to the cameras during her interview, in fact, she saw now, he'd barely even glanced their way, let alone interacted with them. His brown eyes were focused on her... Focused only on her...  
She watched herself answering his question about what she missed from home, saw the the intrigue in his eyes when she told him about District 7's one and only rose bush, and she knew for definite, in that moment, who had sent her the perfect white rose.  
She saw, too, the way he reacted when she'd tucked her fingers into his as she'd pulled him to his feet so he could dance with her, saw him jump just a little when she'd gently positioned his hand on her waist. Saw that he wasn't so much ignoring the audience, he appeared to have simply forgotten they were in the room too.  
If she'd been struck by the intensity in his eyes the previous night, it was nothing to what she could see watching her interview back... And she could see now that her expression mirrored his, her voice on autopilot as she'd given him directions in how to move.  
As they eventually came to a standstill in the centre of the stage, they regarded one another with total captivation - the captivation she thought she had imagined - and then Caesar bent his head a little, his eyes closing as he'd pressed his lips against her cheek.  
Willow flushed as she remembered how her body had reacted at his light touch, and then she saw him literally jump back from her and touch his earpiece. He held her hand as he bade her goodbye, and he looked unusually flustered as he greeted Ash onto the stage.  
Delta glanced up at Willow as the teenager swiftly unfolded herself from the sofa, and walked off to her room, closing the door quietly behind her.  
"She likes him,"Ash said sagely, his voice muffled from behind his book.  
Delta looked across at him in surprise, wondering if the attraction between Willow and the Master of Ceremonies was so obvious that even a child could see it, or if Ash was just more observant than the average fourteen year old.  
"Hmm," the mentor replied thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I think he likes her, too."  
The pair looked at one another for a long moment, concern clear on both their faces, and then Delta sighed long and loud.  
"I guess I should go talk to her."  
Ash nodded.  
"I guess you should."  
Delta didn't bother knocking on Willow's door.  
She found the tribute perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, holding the rose at the very base of the stem, the flower itself less than an inch from her face, and she was just staring at it, as though hoping it would speak and give her the answers she so desperately wanted.  
Willow didn't look up. She knew it was Delta, knew why she was there.  
"Did Caesar send that to you?"  
There was a long silence.  
"I think so," Willow replied, her voice sounding far steadier than she felt.  
"Nothing can come of it, y'know," Delta said at length, half-wishing her words weren't true.  
"I know," Willow answered, but the eyes that met Delta's were gleaming with grim determination, and the mentor gave a resigned sigh.  
"If you win..." She left the rest of her sentence unspoken, but Willow knew what she hinting at: no promises, but win The Hunger GamesGames and a move to the Capitol might possibly be within her grasp.  
"You won't work against it?"  
"I won't work against it."  
The two women exchanged a look of understanding and that, combined with Delta's spoken consent was enough for Willow. Where they came from, a promise was a promise, even death couldn't break it.

The monotony of the day was broken at one o'clock that afternoon, when Chilton and Vinnie, with the flustered style teams in tow, burst back into the apartment bearing the information that all the tributes were to be having official Hunger Games photograph portraits taken that evening, something which was usually done right before the interviews.  
The following few hours were filled with heated discussions over what Willow and Ash were going to wear, their make-up, the style of the photographs, and how they should act and pose for the camera.  
The young pair sat silently, side by side on the sofa, whilst all this was going on, and not once were they asked for an opinion.  
The style teams and Chilton, Capitolists through and through, were determined to go all out, wanting Willow and Ash in full make-up, wigs, and gaudy, sparkling and Vinnie favoured the idea of going completely back to basics, woodpiles, axes, the full works.  
Willow was cringing inwardly at both notions.  
When it became clear that the stylists, the escort and the mentors were simply not going to agree, Willow stood up and cleared her throat quietly.  
"I have an idea..."  
As she proceeded to outline her thoughts, Juno and Antonio's initial scoffing turned into quiet consideration and, finally, to a warm consensus. Willow smiled to herself, and Ash flicked her a look of gratitude - he obviously hadn't been too crazy about the prospect of being dressed up as a glittery lumberjack!  
After an agreement had been reached, it really didn't take the style teams long to prepare the two tributes, and two hours later Willow and Ash were stood in the Games photographer's studio on the groundfloor of the training centre, nervously awaiting their turn in front of the camera.

"Action!"  
Caesar Flickerman's brilliant white smile lit up every television screen across Panem, and even though viewing was mandatory, the Master of Cermonies did his best, as always, to make the citizens feel welcome.  
"As I'm sure you're all aware by now, techincal problems halted the tributes' training session just over two days ago, so we've been filling in the time by getting to know our latest recruits a little better. Yesterday, you met them all for the first time during interviews with yours truly..." Caesar aimed another award-winning grin at the camera in front of him, "And today, you have the opportunity to see their official Hunger Games portraits, all photographed by the extremely talented Lionel Prescott..."  
The screen showed an image of the aforementioned photographer, an image Caesar knew to be at least fifteen years old, because they'd been using the same photo for as long as he'd been presenting The Hunger Games (and probably longer besides, he thought wryly).  
"So, without further ado, let's take a look! First up, from District 1, it's Bourne!"  
Caesar chatted through each of the featured photographs, praising up the style teams and the way the camera seemed to love each and every tribute who was in front of it, and when he reached Willow's picture, he took the briefest moment to admire the simplicity of it all, doing his very best to hide a surprised but extremely genuine smile when he saw what she was holding - a white rose. And he couldn't help but wonder if it was the same one she had received that morning...  
She was stood against the blurred backdrop of a woodland glade, wearing a white silk dress that clung loosely to her slender curves, her bright red hair and lips a startling contrast to her porcelain skin and pale attire, and Caesar was fairly certain Willow herself may have had some input in how her portrait had been constructed - it was, in no way, shape or form, anything like a Capitol style team would have dreamed up!  
The Master of Ceremonies' gaze lingered on the rose for a second longer, and in that instant, he made a decision which, unbeknownst to him then, would change the course of his life forever.


	6. A Visit To The Roof Garden

The Avox he'd seen the previous evening was working in the kitchen again when Caesar arrived at the back door of the Training Centre, and the man approached him cautiously, expecting his services were going to be required once again, and he didn't so much as raise an eyebrow when the Master of Ceremonies asked to speak with the female District 7 mentor.  
He silently led Caesar up the narrow staircase at the rear of the Capitol's tallest building and indicated Caesar should wait in the lobby whilst he went to fetch Delta.  
The Avox reappeared several minutes later, preceded by the required mentor, who somehow didn't seem too surprised at who was facing her, rather apprehensively, across the hallway.  
"Caesar, what an unexpected pleasure," said Delta, trying to hide a smile as she watched him suck in a calming breath. "You really shouldn't be here."  
"I know." Caesar looked down at the highly polished tips of his black boots. "Can I..." He stopped, unsure as to how he should proceed. "Can I see Willow?" he blurted, suddenly feeling very foolish.  
"Willow needs to concentrate on surviving the Games." For some reason, in spite of her pledge to her protégé, Delta couldn't stop herself reminding the Master of Ceremonies exactly why Willow Monroe had come into his life, and Caesar sighed heavily.  
"I... I felt something, last night, when we were dancing, and I just wanted to know... well, I just wondered... if she felt it too..."  
The mentor raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
"If she's not interested, or doesn't want to see me, I'll go." He promised, nodding as though to validate his point.  
Delta stared at him intently for a long, long time. She had promised Willow that she wouldn't stand in the way if anything were to happen, and she wished she could think of a logical reason, any logical reason, to send him away - other than the fact that he absolutely, 100% shouldn't have been there in the first place. Unfortunately for her, his expression was open and honest and determined, and Delta could feel herself wanting to give in.  
What did it matter, really, she reflected? What did it matter if Willow had the opportunity of spending a couple of hours in Caesar Flickerman's arms? To feel the warmth of desire before she died? Caesar surely understood the risk to himself if he was caught, and what more could they do to Willow?  
The mentor exhaled slowly.  
"Wait here."  
Caesar fidgeted, paced the hall, attempted to calm his racing heart, but when the door reopened, he felt a familiar rush of nervous joy wash over him as he caught a glimpse of who was standing behind Delta.  
Willow's face was free of make-up, and Caesar was completely blown away by the very natural beauty she possessed. He gazed at her, and she looked back at him with what could have easily been classed as hope in those green eyes, and it wasn't hard for Delta to sense her presence was no longer required.  
"Maybe you two should go up to the roof, and... talk?" she suggested softly.  
Without taking his eyes off Willow, Caesar stretched out a trembling hand, and she gently placed her fingers in his. They both jumped at the light touch, and Caesar wordlessly held open the door that led up the remaining six flights of stairs to the roof, wondering what on earth he was going to say when they got there.  
Willow led Caesar around the domed roof of the Training Centre, and whilst the Master of Ceremonies wasn't entirely surprised to discover a garden on the roof, he was, he had to confess, a little taken aback by its lushness. A thick, circular blanket of turf was surrounded by flower beds and potted trees, from which hung dozens upon dozens of coloured windchimes. It was completed with several bubbling, babbling water features, and a classic grey marble bench. It was really quite stunning.  
"Wow!" he said softly.  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"  
"Yes, it is," but Caesar's eyes were no longer on the garden.  
He perched himself on the seat, watching Willow as she flitted around, examining the plants, the trees, pausing here and there to lower her head and inhale delicately.  
The Training Centre was the tallest buildings in the Capitol, indeed, it was one of the tallest buildings in Panem, and as such, there was always at least a faint breeze that made the windchimes tinkle gently, bringing a sense of calm to the garden's occupants, and ensuring they couldn't be heard by any microphones that may have been concealed up there in days gone by. It was certainly enough to hide the whispers of two people who didn't want to reveal their secrets to the world.  
"Willow - ?"  
She must have been waiting for him to say something, for she spun round before Caesar had finished the first syllable, and the gaze that met his was filled with anticipation.  
The man who could hold the fickle attention of the Capitol residents with his eloquence, the man whose voice had enough infliction to change the thoughts of all those who watched him, was suddenly lost for words, and he could do nothing more than simply hold his arms out towards her.  
She was in them in an instant, knowing she had absolutely nothing to lose in feeling his touch on her skin just one more time and, as it had the previous day, her body reacted to his smooth fingers on her bare flesh, heat burning within her, and he gentlytugged her downwards so she was sat on his thigh.  
Their faces were at the same level now, and she could smell the combined scent of lemons and oranges on his skin, almost taste the peppermint of his breath as it mixed with hers. Their mouths were so close, just inches apart; she wanted to kiss him, she wanted him to kiss her, and she didn't want to ever stop.  
Their foreheads met first, and they rested there for the briefest of moments, their eyes closed, and then their noses grazed against one another's, and their lips came together as one, sparking a far more potent rush of desire within each of them. His arms were wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she could feel the cool silk of his lapels as she slipped her hands upwards to touch his face, and slide her arms about his neck.  
Willow wasn't sure how long they sat entwined in each other's arms, a minute, an hour, it didn't matter, but what she did know was that, when they finally pulled themselves apart, the Caesar Flickerman before her was not the same Caesar Flickerman the Capitol saw, he was not the bouncing, exuberant man he presented to Panem. He was no less confident, but he was altogether gentler, calmer.  
They gazed at one another questioningly, and then her lips were back against his, and she was shuffling herself around so she straddled him. He groaned low in his throat when he felt her body press into his, the flimsy bodice of her dress doing absolutelynothing to contain the effects of her growing arousal, and his hands tightened on her back, his fingers easing down her torso to rest on her hips.  
He broke away from her, placing his forefinger gently on her lips when she tried to kiss him again, and holding her back with it as he said quietly:  
"Are you sure?"  
She looked intently at him for a moment, the golden flecks in her green eyes almost bronze now, smoldering with the heat of her desire.  
"Yes."  
"Truly sure?"  
"It might be the only chance we ever have," she whispered.  
Caesar's heart leaped. She had said the 'we' ever have, not just 'I' but 'we'. She wasn't just after someone to be close to, she wanted him, specifically him!  
"No one can know," he murmured, his halting finger already starting to trace the outline of her red lips, "It'd be too dangerous."  
Her lips were tingling from his gentle caress, and she shuddered a little as she finished hoarsely, "I know."  
His mouth was barely an inch away from hers again, the only barrier between them was his finger, and they both knew once he moved it there was no going back.  
He slipped it downwards silently, no further words were necessary.  
They made love slowly, taking the time to learn everything they possibly could about one another, with no thought that they may never have another opportunity to use what they discovered.  
She sat astride him, the flowing fabric of her dress covered their dignity, but had anyone chanced a visit to the roof during that time, what they were doing would have been more than obvious - his hands gripping her rolling hips, her head thrown back exposing the slender line of her neck, her fingers clinging to his shoulders as she leant back a little to shift her positioning, her arms around his neck, holding him against her chest where his tongue teased her breasts.  
Unhurried though it may have been, their lovemaking was passionate, intense; they savoured every touch, every moan, every kiss, every caress, and despite knowing there was an incredibly high chance they'd never get the chance to feel this way again, they both reached a climax that was unrivalled, and afterwards, when he held her close, she clung to him, and he whispered to her that he knew she could make it out alive. And in that moment, she believed him.  
Neither of them had the faintest idea how long they had been up there, but a hazy purple twilight had come and gone by the time Willow finally tapped on the door that led back into the training centre. Delta struggled to pick herself up from her slumped position on the floor. Her butt was numb, her limbs aching, and she knew they'd all but missed dinner.  
Looking at their perfectly placed clothing alone, it would have been impossible to tell what Willow and Caesar had been up to for all this time. A less observant person would never have noticed the warm flush on each of their cheeks, the way the pair stood close, so clearly desperate to touch one another again, the silent, longing glances as they exchanged goodbyes, and even then Delta could see then that neither Willow nor Caesar had anticipated the emotions that had come along with their desires.

Caesar didn't kiss Willow when he left her standing with Delta in the stairwell. He knew that if he did, it would have been too difficult to stop. He went straight home, for once not desiring any company but that which he had left behind, and he berated his own stupidity at developing feelings for Willow Monroe.  
He wanted her to survive The Hunger Games, had belief that she could even, but the odds had already not been in her favour when she'd been reaped - could her luck possibly change once she was in the arena?


	7. Back Into Training

News came the following morning that the training floor was ready for use again, and the tributes were scheduled to meet there after lunch, so they could effectively pick up where they had left off two and a half days previously.  
Willow's thoughts were definitely not on the upcoming training session. She gazed her way through breakfast, nibbling on a warm bread roll and a handful of plump cherries without really tasting them. She did manage to hold onto her attention long enough to listen to Delta and Vinnie's advice about what to focus on in training, but after that, her thoughts slipped straight back to Caesar and the events of the previous night.  
She was sat staring unseeingly out of the window when Delta approached her some time later.  
"Willow...?"  
Delta eyed the tribute reflectively as her head jerked up, the green gems she called eyes widening in surprise at being caught unawares, and the mentor gave a quiet and resigned sigh as she regarded her.  
"You've gotta concentrate in there, sweetheart... They'll all be watching you. From what I hear, your interview was quite the sensation... Even the other mentors are saying it was an act of pure genius!"  
Willow looked at Delta blankly, and then in astonished horror as the realisation of what it implied dawned on her.  
"It wasn't an act," she whispered, stricken that anyone would think something to the contrary.  
"I know that, and you know that, but the rest of Panem... as far as they're concerned, it was a master stroke. If there is anyone to have on your side, it's Caesar Flickerman... He can influence a crowd better than anyone I know."  
Willow looked anxious suddenly. Would that be what Caesar believed too? That she had held his hand, danced with him, made love with him, in order to get sponsorship?  
"That's not important now!" Delta muttered irritably, reading Willow's blatantly obvious expression of concern. "What's important is you learning as much as you possibly can, and training as hard as you possibly can, in order to get out of the arena alive. Then you can worry about your love life."  
Willow's heart was still pounding and she still looked miserable, but she gazed up at Delta levelly.  
"Okay."  
Thus, Willow had good intentions when she and Ash stepped out of the elevator at 2pm, and her determination to succeed paid off, or, at least it did until Jewel and the District 2 male tribute, Mace, cornered her at the spear throwing station.  
"Nice interview..." Jewel's smirk twisted her perfect features into a face that was filled with unpleasantness, and Mace's expression of amusement echoed that of his new ally.  
"Hmm... Caesar Flickerman? Really?"  
Willow hoped they couldn't sense her heart hammering against her ribcage as she stared coolly back at them for a moment, before placing the spear she had been about to hurl at a waiting dummy, very precisely, back onto the rack - she had absolutely no intention of giving away her nervousness by completely missing her mark!  
She stepped past them, pretending to ignore their taunting remarks as she headed for the fire-making station, deciding that was probably the one place where she couldn't embarrass herself if they chose to follow her, which, unfortunately, they did.  
The pair squatted beside her as she carefully built up the most perfect wooden pyramid she had ever constructed, and set it alight with a couple of well-aimed strikes of two pieces of flint, proceeding to bait her with jibes about her interview, and her evident closeness to the Master of Ceremonies.  
With Willow continuing to offer no response, boredom eventually set in for the other two tributes, and they wandered off together to the sword station, leaving Willow to head to the archery range and unleash her pent up anger into several dummies. They were soaked red by the time she had finished, and even the instructor appeared a little shocked by her sudden vehemence, having previously believed her to be a gentle girl, who should never have been forced into this situation... Maybe there was fire in her belly, after all, he thought with interest.  
Willow ended the day back at the edible plants and insects stations, reasoning that being able to defend oneself was all well and good, but it meant nothing if you were going to starve to death because you'd ignored the advice of the instructors. She was under no illusion that she was going to be a part of the career pack alliance, and therefore she knew that she wasn't going to have regular access to the food that would undoubtedly be stored at the Cornucopia, or wherever else the careers decided to stash their wares. It didn't bother her in the slightest, she'd lived amongst the trees, amongst the woods and forests for her entire life - living off the land was second nature to her.  
She and Ash rode back up to the seventh floor in silence. He'd seen her with the bow and arrows, and he knew already that she, like most people over the age of about eight years old in District 7, was lethal with an axe. Watching her that afternoon, the teenager was suddenly of the opinion that his fellow tribute had everything it took to win - she could keep her head until the opportune moment, she knew how to keep warm, she knew how to find food, and above all, she had learned how to fight.  
As they entered the room, Delta and Vinnie glanced up. One look at the glower on Willow's face told Delta that the session hadn't gone well, and Ash flopped onto the blue velvet sofa as the mentor said neutrally:  
"You promised you'd concentrate on the Games, we agreed..."  
"I am, Delta," Willow clipped out.  
"You don't look like you are."  
"She was on fire down there, Delta," Ash injected, before Willow's anger could boil over again.  
Delta looked at him, and then Willow, in surprise.  
"Really?"  
Ash nodded as Willow stalked off to her room, locking the door, and jamming a finger on the button in the shower that nade the water was as hot as she could bear, and then she stood beneath the downpour, letting it slowly ease the tension from her body, wondering why Jewel and Mace's comments had riled her up so much - what did she care if they believed everything she'd done in her interview was an act? But even as she stood there, she knew it wasn't their opinions she was worried about. Her concerns were far closer to home.  
Dressed in another pair of white linen pants, and a loosely fitting aqua-blue shirt, Willow headed back to the main living area, finding her team just about to sit down to dinner. She joined them wordlessly, not meeting Delta's questioning gaze, but eventually Vinnie's tipsy anecdotes and drunken impersonations of the Capitolist sponsors won her over, and she sat giggling with the rest of them.  
By 9pm, they had moved to the sofas, lounging indulgently with final glasses of wine as the enormous television screen flickered into life, and Caesar Flickerman's brilliant white grin beamed across the room.  
Willow's smile dried up the instant he appeared, and the relaxed attitude everyone had adopted disappeared along with it. Did they all know, she wondered vaguely, were they all aware her interview hadn't been 'just an act'? Did they all know he'd been here, at the training centre, the previous night?  
The awkward silence was only punctuated by the ocassional hiccup or snore from Chilton, who clearly didn't have much of a capacity for alcohol, seeing as he'd fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd sunk into the plushness of the sofa, and so when Caesar signed off an hour later, Vinnie, Ash and the style teams almost tripped over one another in their hast to not be left alone with Willow and Delta.  
Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when the Avox from the previous night came through the door, beckoning to Delta.  
Willow's heart leapt. He hadn't thought it was an act, he can't have done if he'd come back, surely?  
The mentor disappeared from the room with the Avox, and Willow jumped to her feet, ready to be called out.  
"It's him, isn't it?" Willow asked quickly, an overjoyed smile on her face, as Delta came back into the room. "He's here!"  
The tribute noticed the grim look on Delta's face, and her brow furrowed a little in confusion when she heard Delta's reply:  
"Yes, it was Caesar. When I told you I wouldn't get in the way, I didn't realise how much he was going to distract you... You can't have distractions playing The Hunger Games, Willow."  
Willow gazed at her, her green eyes suddenly suspicious as a cold chill settled over her.  
"What did you do, Delta?"  
Delta inhaled, preparing herself for the storm she knew would come.  
"I told him you didn't want to see him... I sent him away."


	8. Was it all an act?

Willow's jaw went slack for just a moment, and then the colour drained from her face, leaving her completely ashen, her eyes suddenly huge and gleaming like polished emeralds.  
"How could you!" she screamed, not remembering the need for discretion, and even if she had, in that minute, she wouldn't have cared.  
"Ssshhh!" Delta hissed.  
"No, I will not 'ssshhh'!" Willow's voice caught in her throat as she tried to hold in a sob. "You knew how I desperately I wanted to talk to him, you knew I needed to make sure he didn't think I was using him, and you've sent him away?"  
"He's distracting you!" Delta argued, her grey eyes flashing, and Willow glared at her incredulously.  
"Well, it's going to distract me a whole lot more now, isn't it?" she hollered in response.  
"Because you'll let it!"  
Willow stared at her mentor long and hard.  
"You promised you wouldn't stand in the way... You promised..."  
Delta felt the determination leave her when she saw the misery, and the unmistakable glimmer of tears, in her charge's green eyes, thinking they looked very much like Caesar Flickerman's had done just a few moments before.  
"You need to concentrate on the Games," she said softly.  
Willow slowly shook her head.  
"No, I don't... I need to make sense of what's going on... I need to go into the arena knowing what's happening between Caesar and I..."  
Delta didn't try to stop Willow when she placed defiant fingers on the doorknob, made no attempt to prevent her exiting the room, and when the mentor didn't follow her, Willow made a dash for elevator. No lights, it wasn't moving... The back staircase! Willow darted recklessly down to each floor in the hope of discovering Caesar still wandering away.  
Peering over the rail, she saw a flash of jay-blue disappearing through the door of floor two, and her feet began to fly so fast she was in danger of tumbling.  
Wrenching open that same door, still running, not daring to stop, she frantically called out to him.  
"Caesar!"  
The shuffling ahead of her paused, continued, stopped again, and she almost collided with him as she rounded the corner at the top of the first floor staircase, making them both gasp in surprise, in spite of the fact they had each known the other was there.  
"Willow..."  
The emotion in that solitary word was enough to make her throw herself against him. Their arms closed around each other, and he buried his face in her hair, murmuring, "Delta said you didn't want to see me."  
"Delta was speaking for herself," Willow replied harshly. "She knew I wanted to see you, knew I wanted you..." She trailed off when he held her tighter, relaxing into him, feeling the anxiety seeping away. "She said you're distracting me..." Caesar kissed the top of her head, and she knew that her mentor was right, he was a distraction, and she didn't care. She did, however, realise in that instant that Delta genuinely wanted to help her, and had thought keeping her away from Caesar would be for the best. She just didn't understand that wasn't how Willow worked.  
"We'd better go upstairs," Willow muttered into his black silk tie. She didn't share her reasons with him, but the last thing she needed right now was for Jewel, Bourne or Mace to discover her wrapped in Caesar's arms half a day before she was due to astound the gamemakers with what she'd learned over the past few days. The careers would probably alert the entire tower!  
She took Caesar's fingers in her own, leading him back up the five flights of stairs to floor seven, where they were both surprised and apprehensive to discover Delta waiting at the door to the apartment.  
Willow gripped Caesar's hand even more firmly when she saw her mentor, and Delta regarded them both with a resigned expression as Caesar instinctively stepped forward so Willow was behind him.  
"You two are fools," Delta said irritably, "Absolute fools."  
Willow pushed herself past Caesar, her head held high.  
"I'm going to talk to Caesar now," she said, in a tone that almost dared Delta to stop her entering the room.  
And with that, still clinging to Caesar's hand, Willow strode into the apartment, and headed straight for her quarters.  
Even though he would never have decided differently, the Master of Ceremonies didn't have any choice but to follow her, and he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed as Willow locked the door, gazing around in amazement.  
The Training Tower was the one place in the Capitol that even he wasn't allowed access to, despite constant petitions to President Snow from the producers of his show. The President wouldn't even allow them to go in once the tributes had left. Now, here he was, not only in the Centre itself, but inside one of the apartments assigned to the Hunger Games tributes, and he couldn't tell a single soul.  
Willow turned back to him, and Caesar looked up at her curiously.  
"So..." he began slowly. "Is it true, what everyone's saying? Was it all an act?"  
The hurt shone clear as day on her face. Either Willow Monroe was a consummate actress, or everything she had done with him, she had done because she wanted to, not even stopping to think it may be misconstrued as an act.  
"Part of me wants to say 'yes, it was', because as act would be so much simpler than the truth right now..."  
Caesar watched her, trying to gauge her thoughts, trying to decide if the young woman he had met and fallen for was who Willow really was, or if everything she had done from the reaping to this very moment was for show.  
She drew in a shaky breath, and sat down beside him, those beautiful, luminous eyes never leaving his face.  
"When I watch The Hunger Games - we have to watch them, y'know?"  
Caesar nodded. "So do we."  
"When I watch them, I look at everybody, and the only person who ever seems to truly care about the tributes is you... Your eyes are always so kind, no matter how angry or sad the tributes are, however much they openly hate you... And then I met you, and I knew I was right: You're probably the only person in this God foresaken place that cares about us at all." She stopped, but he remained silent, somehow sensing that she wasn't finished yet.  
"So, was it all an act?" She paused again, gazing deep into the eyes that had first captured her attention, needing him to understand, needing him to know that it was him she wanted, him she needed, not his position, not his protection, just him.  
"None of it was an act."  
Caesar believed her. And immediately a miniscule part of him wished she had lied, wished that she'd answered with the phrase, "Yes, it was all an act", because that would have been so much easier, practically at least, to deal with, but, at the same time, he knew he would never have been able to handle hearing that, not after what had taken place between them the previous night.  
His mind slipped back twenty-four hours, to the very second his lips had first met hers. Her body had been so soft, and sweet, and supple beneath his fingers, her mouth so eager against his, that he found himself suddenly focusing on her moistened lips as she parted them to speak once again.  
Willow completely forgot what she was going to say as Caesar leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, slowly and assertively kissing away the nerves, the fears, the frustrations of the day, and it wasn't very long at all before she melted into his arms, pushing herself against him, her mouth just as warm and inviting to him now as it had been the first time.  
As their kiss deepened, Caesar eased Willow back into the coolness of the covers, and she pulled him down so he was half-kneeling over her. He held her hands above her head, pressing them gently into the bed, so she couldn't touch him until he wanted her to, determined to savour every minute, each second, he had with her.  
She arched up to meet him in exasperation. He allowed her to press herself against him, but he didn't push back. Instead, he kissed her hungrily, feeling her body growing more and more taut with anticipation, but it wasn't until she began to groan with need that he finally, and excruciatingly slowly, began to slide his fingertips along the pale skin of the insides of her arms, and started to unfasten her shirt, button by button, pausing between each one to kiss or run his tongue over the soft flesh he had uncovered.  
Willow begged Caesar to hurry up, but at the same time she pleaded with him to slowdown... She wanted it to end, and yet she never wanted it to stop... Every single caress was amazingly, beautifully, frustratingly sweet, and Willow's head began to spin as Caesar reached the final button, and his mouth pressed butterfly kisses from her bellybutton to the low waistband of her trousers.  
He pushed her hands gently away as she attempted to reach for the fastenings, heard her begin to pant when he started easing the zip gradually downwards with a single finger, feeling her body tensing further with every inch, and she wasn't able to contain a moan when he pulled the fabric apart and allowed his head to drop lower.  
Her hips bucked up as his lips grazed the exposed, lace-covered V of her pubic region, and he used the movement as an opportunity to slip her linen trousers off her hips, allowing them to slide unnoticed to the floor, and leaving her sprawled before him in underwear that left the bare minimum to the imagination, a matching black bra that pushed her breasts temptingly upwards, and an open aqua-blue shirt. Her flaming hair streamed out around her, and those green eyes were watching him as he observed her, drinking in every contour, every detail of her body, her face, and his fingers followed his gaze, trailing over the soft flesh of her breasts, her stomach, backup her torso, her throat, finally tracing the outline of her lips, just as he had done the previous night.  
This time, though, she caught his hand in hers, holding it in front of her face, and her unblinking gaze never left his as she kissed each of his fingers, his palm, drawing a sigh from him as she leaned up on her elbow, and pushed him into the mattress unbuttoning his jacket as she did so.  
Willow wasn't as patient as Caesar, so she didn't prevent him shrugging off his jacket, nor did she stop him when he loosened his tie, but as soon as his fingers reached for the top button of his shirt, she batted his hands away, holding his forearms down as her leg slid over his waist, her slender form following so she was sat astride him once again.  
She leaned forward, her hair rippling over their faces in a waterfall of raspberry-scented sleekness, and she kissed him, an urgent kiss full of hunger and desire, and then her teeth nipped gently, unexpectedly, at his lower lip, causing him to suck in a ragged breath, and when she was finally sure he wasn't going to move his hands, Willow slowly released Caesar's arms, kneeling up so her fingers could move straight to his hips, where she tugged gently and his black silk shirt slipped easily from his waistband.  
She gazed down at him, and those warm brown eyes, filled with lust, and need, and something else Willow couldn't name, looked straight back into hers.  
Her hands ran under his shirt, feeling the firm muscles beneath her fingers, and her hands reappeared, heading straight for the buttons she had prevented him from undoing just moments before, her eagerness to see him naked, in that instant, firmly overriding her need to savour every little moment.  
Her trembling fingers struggled with the tiny buttons, but eventually she was able to pull his shirt open, and her eyes feasted on the lightly tanned skin therein, her fingers following, just as his had with her.  
She felt his body jerk when her groin rubbed against his as she shuffled backwards so that her legs were spread wide across his, and then she proceeded to slide an inquisitive finger under his waistband, flicking open both the button that was on show, and the one that was concealed.  
His arms moved downwards, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of the insides of her thighs as she, agonizingly slowly, unzipped him and her fingers slipped inside his trousers, curling around his erection, gently easing it from its constraints. He pulsated in her hand, and her head shot downwards before he even realised what was happening.  
"Oh, my God!" Caesar groaned, and as the warm wetness of her mouth enveloped his straining member, his fingers tangled in the curtain of red hair, and he was unable to stop himself pushing her head downwards so she would take more of him between her lips.  
She licked, she sucked, she circled the tip with her tongue, until he pulled her away, wrenching her upwards and rolling over so he could pin her to the bed. He held her hands above her head again, one of his hands gripping hers together by the wrists, his free hand somehow managing to pull off her shirt and release her breasts from the confines of her bra.  
She gasped when his lips found each breast in turn, holding one nipple and then the other tenderly between his teeth as his tongue skimmed over them, and her fingers clutched at his shoulders, and her head fell back when his mouth moved downwards, tasting her through the lace of her underwear, trying not to be too astounded or pleased by how wet she was already.  
She moaned aloud again when he slid a finger between the damp gusset of her underwear and her sensitive body, gently stroking back and forth until her thighs began to quiver, and he watched in amazement as her womanhood began to tense in front of his very eyes, her flesh rippling as her orgasm rushed over her.  
She was groaning, gasping, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, trying to pull him upwards, and what she wanted was more than obvious.  
He kicked off his trousers whilst simultaneously roughly ripping her underwear down her legs, then he reared over her, sinking his body as deeply into hers as he could possibly get, feeling the wetness of her body encasing him, dragging him in, tempting him into his own release.  
"Caesar!"  
The combination of the need in her voice, the heat of her body, and the fire in her eyes sent Caesar tumbling over the edge, and he called out in some kind of pleasure-induced agony as he buried himself inside her, clinging to her, shuddering violently in her arms as he collapsed against her equally drained form.

Neither of them even attempted to move for what seemed like hours, and when they eventually did, it was only for Caesar to push himself up and roll onto his back, tucking his arm around her shoulders, and for her to curl herself against his inert body.  
They remained like that, whispering softly to one another, until they could see purple streaking the sky, and that was how they fell asleep, both of them completely forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be there.  
Caesar found himself being shaken awake in far too short a time, the urgent eyes of the Avox meeting his when he eventually managed to persuade his eyelids to open.  
Willow jerked awake when Caesar flew upwards, and the three of them stared at one another in panic.  
The Avox beckoned to the Master of Ceremonies, trying to hurry him along, and that morning, Caesar dressed quicker than he ever had in his life, shoving his tie into the pocket of his trousers.  
Bending to kiss Willow tenderly, he whispered, "Good luck with the gamemakers, show them what you're made of."  
"Will I see you later?" Willow murmured, a lazy smile on her face.  
"Just let them try and stop me," he winked.  
And with that, Caesar crept out of the room behind the Avox, and although he gave no outward sign on his return, the Avox's swift glance over the breakfast bar was enough to tell Willow that all was well, nobody had discovered their secret.


	9. The Decider

The morning's training session passed without incident. Willow spent her time with Ash at the snare making station, helping her male counterpart to master a few basic traps, before stopping off at the archery station for a few minutes before lunch, and it was, therefore, a very calm Willow who strode into the gamemakers chamber two hours later, her unpainted lips set in a determined line.  
She stared up at the balcony which housed around twenty gamemakers, twenty soft chairs, and a table laden with enough food to keep her entire street fed for a week. The sheer extravagance of it made Willow curl her lip, just slightly, in disgust.  
"Willow Monroe, District 7," she announced forcefully.  
The Head Gamemaker looked up when she spoke, and he gave a wry smile as he regarded her from above.  
"Ah, Miss Monroe, we've been waiting patiently to see how you perform without Caesar Flickerman's, er, assistance..."  
Willow gazed upwards coolly, saying nothing. She'd half-expected some reference to her interview anyway - Jewel and Mace had been the first in a long line of people to direct snide, or, in some cases not so snide, remarks her way about the Master of Ceremonies, and as far as Willow was concerned, the comments had become old very quickly, and now they barely phased her at all.  
Another gamemaker peered over the railing at her.  
"Hmm, it'll take more than flirting to prove you've got what it takes to become a victor."  
What was it Vinnie had said before she and Ash had stepped into the elevator that morning? "Make sure the gamemakers remember you"?  
Well, there was no problem in that respect, Willow thought. The gamemakers were already sitting forwards and regarding her with interest, purely because her supposed 'tactics' in the interview had both surprised and intrigued them. Whilst she still disliked having to pretend her actions had all been for show, people had indeed been taking more notice of her since her dance with Caesar, and the subsequent kiss, of course. And, like it or not, notice from the sponsors was usually what kept a tribute alive.  
"You have ten minutes, Miss Monroe."  
Willow began with archery. Several of the gamemakers continued to gorge themselves on the feast, but most sat up a little straighter as each shot fired made the dummies bleed red as an arrow found its mark, and they nodded to one another with approval when Willow climbed into the slender branches at the very top of the fake trees, and sent her three remaining arrows into the dummies from there. She then achieved a similar result on the dummies with one of the heavier axes, and the gamemakers noted that whilst she definitely had some skill with a bow, she looked far more at ease with the weapon of her district; the unimpressed second gamemaker who had spoken on her arrival actually clapped with delight when she split open one of the dummies' head with the axe she hurled across the room.  
The Head Gamemaker had seen enough: "Thankyou, Miss Monroe, you can go."  
Willow wasn't too sure of the protocol when leaving the private training sessions, so she inclined her head, gave them a short, but not unpleasant "Thankyou", and left the room feeling relatively confident that she would earn a decent score.

Vinnie and Delta disappeared shortly after Willow's return, clearly hoping to drum up more potential sponsors with positive accounts of the tributes' private sessions, and therefore, Willow and Ash had to spend the afternoon with Chilton and their style teams, under instructions to watch more reruns of previous Hunger Games, to get even more of a feel for how each tribute had played. Willow's only thought was that it was concerning how many victor's had won merely by chance - it became apparent very quickly that a high score didn't necessarily set you up to win the Games.  
Early evening rolled around faster than Willow had expected it would, and once dinner had been served, enjoyed, and washed down with a glass of wine, they all congregated on the sofas once again for the reading of the private training session scores.  
From the corner of her eye, Willow saw Delta glance across at her as Caesar's grin filled the screen, but the tribute pretended to be oblivious to her mentor, firmly focusing on the television, and secretly hoping she wasn't blushing too furiously as she remembered exactly what his mouth had been doing the previous night, and would hopefully be doing again in a few hours time!  
Delta and Willow hadn't really spoken much that day, but Willow sensed Delta wasn't really annoyed with her. Maybe her mentor had given up worrying about Caesar being a distraction, the tribute thought hopefully.  
After a very brief introduction, Caesar launched into the rankings.  
As expected, Bourne and Jewel from District 1, and Mace and Ava from 2 all scored highly, as did the careers from 4. Districts 3 and 5 had a mixture of average and lower scores; Ash achieved a 6, which was admirable for his age - at fourteen, he was actually the youngest tribute taking part this year, and Willow congratulated him along with everyone else as he beamed happily.  
Caesar called Willow's name next, and although she knew she might have imagined it, Willow couldn't help thinking that there was a tiny smile playing around the edge of Caesar's mouth as he opened the slip of paper and peered at it curiously.

The Master of Ceremonies tried to not let his joy or his pride show when he opened her score card, but he couldn't stop his lips curling into a small smile when he saw the number in front of him. Somehow or other, Willow - his Willow - had truly impressed the gamemakers.  
"Nine," he announced, finally allowing his smile to develop into a wide grin.  
He was elated as he read out the remaining tributes' scores without really taking them in, and he was still smiling a very genuine smile when he signed off and the screens in front of him went black.

Caesar's style team wondered what on earth had come over him when they stood around him a few minutes later, carefully wiping away the residue of his stage make-up. Every year up to now, Caesar had always gone very quiet after the scores had been read - his moment of reflection, they'd always thought. They knew that, although he adored his position as Master of Ceremonies, that he loved being the person who could usually reassure and help the struggling tributes gain sponsorship, he also found it very hard watching those young people die.  
This evening, though, he seemed - exuberant? Was that the word, they asked one another once he'd left for the night? And he'd been very eager to leave, too...  
Huddled together around the television in Caesar's dressing room, the stylists watched the show back twice, trying to agree on where his manner had changed, and it was on this second viewing that his stylist, Venetia, saw the little gleam in their employer's eyes as he opened one of the pieces of paper.  
"District 7," she said definitely, when they reached the end.  
The others raised their painted eyebrows.  
"The girl." She nodded. "The one he danced with the other night. Her."  
They watched it back one more time, and their eyes met knowingly the second Venetia pinpointed the exact moment Caesar had changed, and they grinned at one another, drawing in a collective gasp of excitement.  
"He likes her!" One of the prep team squeaked.  
They had all seen a procession of women wander through Caesar's dressing room during their time in his employ, and although he'd always been unfailingly charming to each and every one of them, none had ever lasted for more than a few weeks before he had moved on to the next.  
"Caesar likes everyone!" the other member of the prep team replied.  
"No, no, no," the first argued. "He has feelings for her, you can see it in his eyes when he talks about her..."  
It took them several moments to notice Venetia's face had fallen, and theirs came to mirror hers as the horrible realisation dawned on them.  
"Poor Caesar," Venetia said with a sigh, the sadness in her voice utterly unmistakable. "I really hope she wins..."

Willow slept alternately fitfully and heavily that night, and then woke in the small hours of the morning, immediately feeling miserable when she remembered Caesar hadn't visited.  
She staggered into the shower, and stood distractedly beneath the spray for almost an hour, hoping it would ease some of the tiredness out of her body. She washed her hair twice, wound it into a towel on top of her head, roughly dried herself, and then proceeded to collapse back into bed, and sleep for another three hours.  
Willow awoke for the second time that day, gagging on the overpowering aroma of strawberries, and she searched the room for them before she realised the the smell was coming from her, and she promptly dived back into the shower , setting it on just plain water in an effort to rid herself of the scent.  
When she emerged a short time later, her skin raw from scrubbing, the smell of strawberries hadn't gone completely, but it had definitely dulled to a just about acceptable level, and Willow slipped on black trousers and a ruby-coloured sleeveless shirt, braiding her damp hair so it hung straight down her back, and then peered out into the main living area.  
Despite managing to fall back to sleep, and having two showers, she was still the first one up.  
Typical, she thought irritably, the others had probably all slept like babies last night, and she knew already that her style team were going to whine at her about the shadows under her eyes.  
Said style team strutted through to the breakfast bar about thirty minutes later, all three of them doing double-takes at Willow's face.  
"What on earth happened to you?" Juno asked.  
Willow glared at her from under her eyebrows - what did the woman think had happened? That she'd been out partying all night?  
"I didn't sleep well," the tribute muttered.  
The team sighed as they began carefully choosing their breakfasts, and began to loudly discuss which methods would work best to cover those unsightly marks.  
Willow tried not to roll her eyes at their comments, she knew they were trying to help her, that they were only doing their jobs, just as she was, as Delta and Vinnie were, but the young tribute couldn't help thinking how shallow they were - didn't they care that tomorrow she and Ash were going to be put into an arena with twenty-two other teenagers, and were expected to kill one another? Didn't they realise how totally barbaric that was?  
Of course they didn't. Willow knew that, and yet, somehow, it still continued to amaze her.  
Delta threw her a quizzical glance, but wisely said nothing, Vinnie and Chilton were both oblivious, and Ash threw half a smile her way, which she only just managed to return.  
"You okay?"  
Willow looked up at the unexpected voice.  
"Why didn't he come, Delta?"  
The mentor shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but her expression wasn't without understanding - in spite of her age, she could still remember the feeling of being eighteen and in the first flushes of love with the man who had eventually become her husband, still recall how upset she had felt if he hadn't called on her, or taken her dancing.  
"I dunno, sweetheart. There could be any number of reasons as to why he couldn't get here."  
By the way Willow's green eyes brightened and widened at the comment, Delta sensed she'd said something the tribute hadn't been expecting to hear.  
"'Couldn't' turn up?" she asked quickly. "You think he couldn't come? Not that he didn't want to?"  
Delta regarded Willow's suddenly hopeful face with resignition.  
"Willow," she replied, after a few moments consideration. "I think you're absolutely crazy, and that there's a huge chance you're going to get your heart broken, but I do believe Caesar's developed... feelings... for you, and I know you have for him. I don't, in a million years, think that he would have willingly passed up an opportunity of seeing you."  
And with that, Delta left Willow to mull over her words for a while.  
The tribute stared unseeingly at the magazine she had been pretending to read for quite some time before she stood up, visibly more optimistic than she had been, and wandered over to her style team.  
"So," she enquired with genuine interest in her voice, "What's the plan?"


	10. Final Impressions

Preparations for the interview began directly after lunch. Catia and Cassia spent almost an hour on Willow's skin, buffing and polishing until it gleamed like satin, and then the three of them sat in near silence for another sixty minutes as the prep team stenciled faint and exceedingly delicate silver patterns on Willow's arms. On closer inspection, the tribute saw they were perfect replicas of a willow tree's leaves, and blooming white roses, and she couldn't suppress a happy smile.  
They left her hair piled on top of her head whilst they applied her make-up with a light hand - "Keep it almost natural," Juno had demanded when Cassia had suggested giving the tribute false lashes and heavy eye make-up to draw attention to her face, "They love her as she is!"  
That was the beauty of working with Juno, Willow had discovered. Despite her stylist's extreme personal fashion quirks, she was very in touch with what the Capitol audiences liked seeing when it came to the tributes, and she had realised early on that Willow's porcelain white complexion and her huge green eyes were what they adored about her.  
So, deft but gentle fingers brushed on mascara, painted on eyeliner, and the only concession to heavy make-up they made was her lipstick, the shade that matched her hair, and when they allowed her to look at her reflection, after they'd pulled down and arranged her hair to their satisfaction, Willow couldn't believe how her skin shimmered, how perfectly symmetrical her face appeared.  
"You did it again," she said, with another genuine smile at the twins. "I look amazing!"  
Catia and Cassia beamed at one another, and at that moment, as though sensing they were ready for her, Juno entered with what, Willow presumed, was her dress. She couldn't see it though because the stylist had it covered.  
"Close your eyes," Juno said with a small smile.  
"Juno..."  
"Do it," the stylist ordered.  
With a grin, Willow squeezed her eyes shut.  
"No peeking."  
Willow felt the softness as they slipped the dress over her body. Chiffon, again, she thought, she'd know that material anywhere now, but it was a little heavier than the two previous gowns had been. She was made to hold her feet up, and sandals were slipped onto her feet and buckled up at exactly the right tightness. They were flat, no heel at all, and it felt a little strange to begin with. The three women around her adjusted the bodice of her dress a little, and Willow heard them wandering around her, their silent appraisal, and then there was nothing.  
"Can I open my eyes?" Willow asked cautiously.  
"Yeah," Juno replied softly. "Go ahead."

"Caesar, you have to sit still! This is going everywhere!"  
Venetia sighed as Caesar, yet again, shuffled himself back on his chair, and the brush in her hand smeared jay blue hair dye across his forehead - he was usually so easy to work on, but today...  
Caesar was making a concerted effort to stop fidgeting, but he was feeling restless. The fact he hadn't been able to see Willow last night was weighing heavy on his mind, and he was still trying to get his head around the guilt he felt. It hadn't been his fault as such - his producer had cornered him as he'd been about to leave the studio, and had kept talking to him for hours - but the Master of Ceremonies was feeling bad about it all the same, and he couldn't help wondering what effect it had had on Willow. Would she have figured something had happened to prevent him visiting, or would she be worried his feelings had waned?  
He tried to push his concerns to the back of his mind, but despite his attempts, he simply couldn't get Willow out of his head, so he gave up, and instead tried to focus on what she might look like at her interview tonight.  
Venetia sighed again, inwardly this time though. After what she'd discovered the previous night, she could easily guess what, or rather who, Caesar was thinking of, and, if she was honest, she wanted to warn him to stop looking at Willow Monroe in such a light, for whether his feelings were reciprocated or not, there was a high chance the girl would be dead by the following week.  
The stylist remained silent, though. It wasn't her place to say anything, and she doubted Caesar would have listened even if she had.

Not all of the tributes had arrived at the studio yet, but Willow was already stood perfectly still in her alloted place. Ash was shifting from foot to foot beside her, and she willed him to stand still, because he was making her even more nervous than she felt already. The thought of meeting Caesar publically, for the first time since they had spent the night locked in her room together, was utterly daunting but she couldn't quite explain why.  
"Well, if it isn't the latest Mrs. Flickerman..." a sultry voice sneered softly.  
Willow knew without turning around that Jewel was stood behind her. Once again the District 7 tribute refused to comment, and she resisted the urge to shrug off Jewel's hands when they rested on her shoulders.  
"You're just one in a long line y'know?" she said, stooping a little to whisper in Willow's ear. "Hundreds of women came before you... Although, if it makes you feel any better, as far as anyone knows, you're the first tribute he's been with..."  
Willow remained silent, but Ash could see the flicker of anger in his counterpart's eyes, and almost instinctively, he knew that Jewel was baiting Willow about Caesar.  
"He'll have forgotten all about you within a week if the accounts I've heard are anything to go by..."  
"You seem to know an awful lot about Caesar Flickerman's love life," Willow muttered. "Something you're not telling us, Jewel?"  
"My mentor told me," Jewel countered with a cruel smile. "And don't get cocky, Willow... I saw you with him, in the training centre the other night, I saw the way he held you, so don't try and pretend nothing's going on..."  
And with that, Jewel gave her one last knowing grin, and sashayed away, leaving Willow shaking with fear that someone other than herself, Caesar, Delta and the male avox knew about their relationship and a blinding anger that was aiming itself, very firmly, in Caesar's direction.

Some of the tributes ahead of Willow dazzled, some were, at best, mediocre, but Caesar could feel the sense of anticipation from the audience as he approached Willow's turn in the spotlight, and as she began walking towards him, the crowds started going crazy.  
Caesar did his best to remain looking impartial, but it was no easy task. If Willow been a vision of understated beauty at her first interview with him, tonight she was breathtaking, and take his breath away she did.  
Her stylists had kept her gown along the same simple line of her previous outfits, an empire-waist, the floating skirt of her dress flowing perfectly from beneath her breasts to her feet, the stiffened bodice showing just a hint of cleavage. It was the same green as the leaves on the tree of her namesake, and a hint of silver sparkle on the straps, which crossed over her back and under her breasts, took it away from being called boring. It was beautiful and subtle, and very Willow.  
Her make-up was limited to just mascara, eyeliner, and the, by now, custom bright red lipstick - in fact, Caesar himself was probably wearing more on his face than she was - but what really captured his attention was her hair. It was loose, curling down in gentle waves to her waist, just as it had done every time he had met her face to face, but on this ocassion all he could see in his mind was how it had looked spread out beneath her when he'd pressed her into the mattress, how soft it had felt tangled around his fingers when she'd been...  
Caesar's body twitched at the memory but now absolutely wasn't the time to be recalling such things, he remembered, as he stepped forward to greet Willow and take her hand in his, a brilliant grin on his face.  
She returned it with a small curving of her lips, and it was then that he saw that her smile hadn't reached her eyes. The gold-flecked, green gems that had gazed up at him with such hope the previous morning were now anxious and unsure, angry even, and Caesar felt his heart sink as he realised that she had indeed thought he'd deliberately stayed away last night.  
Was there any way he could reassure her, he wondered silently, any way at all?  
By the time he'd guided her to the seat beside his, Willow had surreptitiously tugged her fingers from his hand, and perched herself on the very edge of her chair, clearly uncomfortable in her surroundings, or perhaps she was just uncomfortable around him, Caesar thought sadly, and he couldn't help taking a deep breath before beginning her interview.  
The ease of their previous public meeting had been replaced with awkwardness, and suddenly, he wasn't sure how to proceed, so he fell back on that old favourite:  
"So, Willow, you've been here for a few days now... What have you enjoyed most about the Capitol?"  
Willow froze momentarily. He was kidding, wasn't he? What had she enjoyed most about the Capitol?  
Somehow she sensed "spending the night with the Master of Ceremonies" wasn't the answer he was looking for, and she certainly wasn't about to admit to doing such a thing in front of the entire nation, so she coolly told him that she'd loved the enormous choice of clothes, and the opportunity to wear so many beautiful dresses.  
"You've looked absolutely stunning every time we've seen you..." He turned to the audience. "Hasn't she, ladies and gentlemen?"  
There was a roar of positive consensus, and Willow gave him a tight smile in return.  
This wasn't going well, Caesar realised nervously. The tribute was definitely giving the impression that she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat at that moment in time, and he desperately wished he could apologise for not seeing her the previous evening.  
Maybe there was a way.  
He sucked in another deep breath, took a running jump, and dove straight into his next question.  
"You've gained a lot of admirers since your arrival in the Capitol, Willow, but what about you? Is there anyone special in your life?"  
Caesar was suddenly gazing intently at her, the audience on tenterhooks, but forgotten once more, and Willow knew she might have imagined it, but she was sure she recognised that expression, the hope gleaming in his brown eyes, and she felt confusion settle on her again. Was he actually talking to her under the guise of an interview? Was he attempting to discover what he meant to her?  
It was now or never, she figured.  
"I thought there was," she said, her voice low, her eyes locking with his, "But I discovered earlier that I might not be as special to him as I'd hoped I was."  
"I don't think any man could deny how special you are," Caesar replied softly, "And if one did, I'd say he was a fool. Wouldn't you, folks?"  
The crowd gave a breathy agreement, and then there was an uncharacteristic hush from the watching audience as the buzzer sounded, indicating Willow's five minutes were up. She continued to gaze at Caesar until he remembered where he was, and he slowly got to his feet, and stretched out a tentative hand to her.  
She stared at it for a long moment, trying to work through her confusion, trying to make sense of everything she'd just had thrown at her. Had Jewel been right? Would Caesar forget about her within a week? Or had she made such an impact on him that it had pulled him up short? She didn't know.  
It was decision time.  
She placed her hand in his, and his warm fingers curled around hers as he announced: "Willow Monroe, District 7!"

"You need to rest!"  
Willow rolled her eyes.  
"As if I'm going to sleep tonight! Does anyone actually manage to do that the night before they enter the arena?"  
Delta saw defiance in Willow's eyes, and gave up immediately. What did it matter, she thought, not for the first time since meeting her latest tribute? Willow seemed to have an unnatural ability to get her own way without even trying.  
"Fine," Delta consented stiffly. "Don't be too long."  
Willow reached up and kissed Delta gently on the cheek. "Send him up?"  
The mentor sighed, nodding slowly.  
Still grinning, Willow slipped quietly from the room, her bare feet making no noise at all as she padded across the lushly carpeted corridor and let herself through the door to the stairwell that led to the roof. Even after all her visits, she still expected half a dozen peacekeepers to hurtle up behind her and bundle her back downstairs but, as usual, nothing happened, and a humming silence fell when she stepped outside.  
The training tower roof had always been to be the one and only place in the Capitol where Willow was able to collect her thoughts, and make sense of them, but on this occasion, the tribute was struggling: What did she mean to Caesar Flickerman?  
The fact that he'd asked her if she had anyone special in her life could not possibly be a coincidence, and she didn't think his reply to her answer had been something designed to make her feel better, either. And she was almost certain she hadn't misread the glimmer of optimism in his eyes when he'd posed the question to her. He had wanted to be sure that he was more to her than just the Master of Ceremonies.  
The lights of the Capitol blazed as far as the eye could see, and several thousand feet below her, Willow could just make out the shrill voices of its residents, all excited for the start of the upcoming Hunger Games.  
Was he down there, she wondered? Fighting his way through the crowds to visit her for what could easily be the last time? Or had she been wrong, would he not come?  
A frown furrowed her brow as she recalled the bitter disappointment of the previous night, her misery at Jewel's cruel statements, the burning desire to feel his lips on hers, and she tried to force them away.  
It didn't work, and the longer she sat looking out over the city, the more upset and frustrated she became. The fiery sun dropped low, painting a dramatic canvas of burnished orange, burning amber and golden yellow brushstrokes across the sky, and as it disappeared into the horizon and the moon began to shimmer, Willow's first tear splashed onto her clenched fist. It was followed by another, and then another, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, finally realising that he wasn't coming back.


	11. A Dash Through The Capitol

Caesar wrapped up the show quicker than he ever had before, refusing to even so much as pause backstage in order to chat more informally with the tributes he'd just finished interviewing. He had a solitary aim in mind tonight, and nothing was going to stop him achieving it. He knew Willow needed him, and there were things he desperately wanted to say to her before she entered the arena.  
As soon as he was out of sight of the majority of the studio staff, he all but sprinted back to his dressing room, bursting through the door and pausing just long enough to snatch up his belongings and the small box that contained the present he had bought for Willow, a gift he was hoping she would use as her token - the one item from home a tribute could take into the arena.  
A quick look in the mirror told him the stage make-up could stay on for now, and as he hurried distractedly back towards the door, he almost walked straight into Venetia who was stood there watching him.  
"Are you going to try and visit her?" the stylist asked softly.  
Having no idea that Venetia and his prep team had worked out his feelings for Willow, there was genuine confusion in Caesar's voice when he replied, "Who?" in a slightly startled tone.  
"The District 7 girl."  
"Why would I be going to see her?"  
"Because you've fallen for her."  
"Don't be ridiculous, Venetia," Caesar said, allowing what he hoped sounded like a hint of scorn to lace his words.  
"You have," Venetia retorted. "Hard. And don't say you haven't because I can see it in your eyes!" She jabbed a knowing finger at him. "You've never acted like this around any woman before."  
"Acted like what?"  
"Like you'd kiss the ground she walked on!"  
"Now you're just being silly," Caesar said, very aware that time was ticking away.  
"No, I'm not... The dance at the first interview... What you said to her tonight... You always play to the audience, Caesar, but in her interviews, you barely even acknowledged they were there. Oh, and let's not forget your stunned silence at the opening ceremony..."  
Caesar shook his head, and went to step past the only woman in the world who knew him better than his own mother.  
"You worry too much, Vee," he told her.  
"I just don't want to see you getting yourself into something that you can't get out of."  
"I know what I'm doing."  
It was basically an admission, and they both knew it. Anxiety crossed Venetia's features, and Caesar had the grace to look guilty for an instant.  
"They won't let you see her."  
Caesar looked at her. "They will."  
"She's a tribute, Caesar..."  
"They'll let me see her," he repeated with certainty.  
"How could you possibly kno-" The stylist paused. Sucked in a sharp breath. "You've already visited her!"  
He nodded, just a brief inclination of his head, but it drew a worried sigh from her.  
"Oh, Caesar..."  
"I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured and, with a familiar kiss on her forehead, he swept away down the hollow corridor.  
Several people called out to Caesar as he dashed through the studio, and all of them were surprised when he gave them nothing more than a cheery wave without breaking his stride. It was most unlike him, they thought silently, he would usually stop to chat to anyone, especially when a few of the tributes were still around, but tonight he simply darted through. Eyebrows were raised but nothing was said out loud - maybe even Caesar Flickerman had to have a life outside of The Hunger Games...?  
Caesar ducked into an open office in order to dodge the show's producer (he certainly didn't need a repeat of the previous night!), and he cleared the studio reception in record time, bouncing out onto the street with the precious box clasped in his hand.  
"Caesar!"  
The Master of Ceremonies paused with an inward groan. He knew that voice, and if it had been any night but this one, he would have been thrilled to see its owner. He briefly debated pretending he hadn't heard anything, but who knew when he'd see Darius Casanova again?  
The pair went back a long way, having been gamemakers together. Darius had stuck it out a year longer than Caesar had, but ultimately it hadn't been the career for him either, and he'd become a peacekeeper during Caesar's second year as the Master of Ceremonies. Whilst the two friends had stayed in touch as much as possible, Darius's job had taken him all over Panem, and he'd only recently arrived back in the Capitol, taking over the role of Head Peacekeeper in the city. It was a position Darius took very seriously, but tonight, the Capitol was happy and expectant, excited for the beginning of the Games the following day, and Darius had heard something from one of his squadron leaders that suggested it would be prudent to seek out Caesar that night.  
So, here they were, standing opposite one another outside Caesar's workplace, and the Master of Ceremonies was looking decidedly shifty and very much like he had somewhere else to be.  
"Darius!" Caesar beamed. "What are you doing here?"  
"A rare night off," the peacekeeper chuckled. "I wondered if you fancied joining me for dinner?"  
Caesar swallowed heavily.  
"Ah, I'd love to but unfortunately I've already got plans..."  
"Anyone I know?" Knowing Caesar of old, Darius guessed his friend's plans likely included a member of the opposite sex.  
"What? Ah, no, no," Caesar paused again, obviously distracted. "Darius, I'm sorry, but I really have to go. We'll meet on your next day off, okay?"  
Darius peered at Caesar from under his eyebrows. His friend had never brushed him off before, not for anything nor anyone, and so his interest was piqued.  
"You've never turned down dinner with me before," he said, his tone and manner slightly mocking.  
The interruption to his journey was starting wear thin on Caesar. He was still so conscious of the minutes ticking away, minutes in which Willow would be sat waiting for him, expecting him to arrive at any moment, needing his explanations, wanting his kisses, his love, his reassurance.  
"I'm sorry, Darius, but this is important, she's important."  
Darius looked a little affronted at Caesar's revelation.  
"Wow, she must be some girl!"  
"She's amazing," Caesar grinned, his first truly genuine smile of the conversation, completely missing the sarcasm in his friend's voice.  
"She'll still be here tomorrow, Caesar."  
As the awful, horrific, tragic reality of Darius's sharp words sank in, a bolt of pain shot straight through Caesar's heart, and he balked when he next met his friend's puzzled stare, his brown eyes suddenly agonized.  
"Actually," he almost whispered, his voice trembling, "She won't be."  
"What?"  
"She won't be here tomorrow. She'll be gone... Maybe forever."  
A chilling feeling washed over Darius. Had his source actually been right?  
"Who is she?" he asked forcefully.  
The change in his friend's tone startled Caesar a little, it had become almost professional, and it alerted him to the possibility that Darius already knew exactly who he was attempting to get to, and was trying to stop him.  
"No one you know," Caesar repeated, his voice guarded this time.  
"Stop pretending. We both know who you're going to see, don't we?"  
"Don't ask me to tell you, Darius," Caesar pleaded.  
"What's her name!"  
Caesar shook his head. "No, because you'll stop me."  
"Tell me her name, or I will forced to detain you."  
"You wouldn't!"  
"Her name, Caesar?" Darius demanded.  
Caesar glared at his oldest friend with something approaching hatred in his expression.  
"Willow. Her name's Willow." And there was a proud defiance in his voice.  
"The girl from the district?"  
"Yes."  
"You shouldn't go."  
"I know."  
"I suppose you've seen her before? Julius helped you?"  
Nothing on earth would have convinced Caesar to name Julius as his accomplice in his endeavour to meet with Willow, so he remained silent, and the pair eyeballed one another for a long moment.  
"I'm not going to stop you," Darius said. "I should, but I won't. You, however, should seriously reconsider if this is something you want to be involved in... You're going to have to report on this, no matter how you feel about her. And if she dies, are you gonna be able to do that without your voice trembling? Because that is an all too real possibility here."  
"Can I go?"  
Darius looked at Caesar for a long moment, searching the glower for some sign of uncertainty, of weakness, any indication that said he wasn't prepared to do whatever it took. There was nothing.  
"Don't get caught. And if you do, this conversation never happened."  
Caesar blinked and gave a barely perceptible nod. Darius's last comment, whilst unnecessary in Caesar's eyes, was sensible. To be seen condoning something that could be misconstrued as an act of rebellion, was bad enough. To be seen assisting it would have far worse consequences, particularly for the Head Peacekeeper of the Capitol...  
"I'll see you soon," Caesar said, his tone softening just slightly as he regarded the conflict in his friend's eyes.  
"Don't make it too soon," Darius warned.  
And with that, the two men parted ways, each knowing that their friendship would never be quite the same again.  
Head down, and his feet moving quicker than they had moved for many years, Caesar made it to the training centre without further incident. As he entered the by now familiar alleyway behind the skyscraper, he turned and paused briefly to see the fiery sun had droped low, painting a dramatic canvas of burnished orange, burning amber and golden yellow brushstrokes across the sky, and he knew it was the last sunset he would ever see as the man he was now. Tomorrow, he would be someone new.  
Tomorrow he would sit on stage, and grin inanely as his image was broadcast across Panem, as he watched the woman he loved enter The Hunger Games arena.


	12. Love In The City

When Caesar hurried up to the back door of the training tower a few moments later, the same dark haired avox appeared almost immediately, his familiar brown eyes reproachful when he saw the visitor.  
As the Master of Ceremonies went to step through the open door, the man planted his feet firmly across the threshold and held out a halting hand, palm first, against Caesar's chest.  
Caesar's gaze jerked from the avox's hand up to his face.  
"What are you doing? Let me in!"  
The avox shook his head forcefully.  
"Let me in!" Caesar demanded, suddenly concerned there was some kind of conspiracy happening here - first his stylist, then Darius, and now this!  
The avox physically held Caesar back as he attempted to push his way in, and then Caesar's frustration broke.  
"Damn it, Julius, let me through!"  
The avox's eyes held something like pain as he shook his head again, his hands still pressing against Caesar's chest.  
Caesar fell back, his mind working furiously, trying to decipher the reason why the man, after assisting him on his three previous visits to the training centre, suddenly wouldn't help him now on the most important night.  
"Why won't you let me in?"  
Julius allowed his outstretched hands to drop to his sides momentarily, and then he reached up with one and pointed to Caesar, then he touched a finger to his own lips and indicated himself.  
"I won't become an avox, I'm not going to get caught."  
Julius nodded, signing, in a way that Caesar seemed to understand, that the Master of Ceremonies had gotten in too deep.  
"She's special, Julius."  
Julius opened his mouth, but only a guttural grunt escaped, and Caesar stared at him sadly.  
"I've made up my mind, I need to see her. Please, let me through."  
Brown eyes looked into brown, each somehow knowing the other was prepared to risk the fight to get what they wanted.  
Caesar, slightly younger and probably the fitter of the two, moved first, but he collided straight into the chest of the taller man, who was ready and waiting, knowing exactly where he would strike. The pair had done this before, many years ago, each grappling for their chosen prize, and the result would likely prove to be the same. Julius would win, and Caesar would go home empty handed. And, in this instance, heartbroken, but Julius was willing to take that risk.  
Caesar slammed the avox back into a wall, winding him, and Julius delivered a sharp elbow into Caesar's stomach, knocking the breath from his body.  
"I'm not going to give up, not this time," Caesar promised. "Not where she's concerned."  
A loud scuffling behind them made them jump apart, still glaring at one another, and they saw another avox, a young girl, standing in the doorway of the kitchens, her blue eyes wide at her discovery.  
Caesar seized his opportunity, darting around Julius, who tried and failed to grab him, and positioned himself behind the other avox.  
"I wasn't here," he told her, and she nodded cautiously, glancing between the two men in a manner that suggested she was unsure with whom she should side.  
Julius went to move towards Caesar but the Master of Ceremonies backed away, mouthing a silent apology as he disappeared through the door which led to the rear staircase of the building.

Caesar slipped up the stairwell, ears and eyes alert for anyone who shouldn't be there, keeping a careful watch behind him as well as ahead, in case Julius had decided to persue him, but there was nothing.  
He knew it was a risk, knocking on the door of apartment seven, knew he wasn't guaranteed to come face to face with Delta Jones, but he'd possibly destroyed three previously strong relationships already in the sole aim of making it here, and he wasn't about to be scared away by the thought of meeting someone who might or might not help him. He'd risked too much to see Willow to be put off now, and so he didn't hesitate as he lifted his hand to rap on the door.  
"You were longer than I thought you'd be," came a soft voice behind him.  
Caesar started and whirled round.  
"Delta!"  
"You seem a little... jumpy."  
"Well, I'm not supposed to be here..."  
"Where've you been? I was expecting you at least forty minutes ago."  
"Everyone has developed a sudden and very intense concern for my whereabouts and safety. My stylist, my best friend (whom I haven't seen for months), even m- the avox who's been helping me for the past three days... They've all tried to stop me getting here."  
"Have you considered the fact they might be right? That maybe it would be best if you didn't see her again?"  
Caesar nodded. "I did consider it, yes. Not for very long, granted, but I did think that staying away might be the better option..."  
"And, seeing as you're here, I'm guessing you decided against it?"  
Silence answered her, and then:  
"Is she inside, or upstairs?"  
"Upstairs."  
"Thankyou."  
"Caesar..." The Master of Ceremonies paused, his fingers already on the knob of the door that led up to the roof garden.  
"Yeah?"  
"She may not look it but Willow's... fragile... right now. She needs reassurance that she has something to come back to, something to make it out for... She needs to know she's not just another conquest..."  
Caesar gazed at the mentor for a long moment, wishing she could understand just what Willow Monroe had come to mean to him.  
"I'll be here when she comes out, hopefully that's all she needs to know."  
"You'd better mean it."  
"I do."  
Delta said nothing, she simply looked at him curiously, and then wandered across the hallway and back into apartment seven, closing the door quietly behind her.  
Caesar remained where he was for a moment, and the thought crossed his mind again wondering if he'd made the right decision, but even as he considered the thought, he was already dismissing it. He'd been honest when he'd told Julius that Willow was special, and he knew she was worth any fall out.

Caesar opened the door to the roof as softly as he could, hoping to surprise Willow, but instead it was he who got the shock.  
She was stood by the marble bench, looking towards the street, having clearly just risen after a prolonged period of being seated, and he could tell by the way her shoulders were moving that she was crying, and somehow he knew he was the cause of her tears. Something he'd done? Something he'd not done?  
"Willow?" he whispered.  
She jumped, startled by the intrusion, and, still shaking, she slowly, oh so slowly, swiveled around on her heel to face him, and then, her lower lip quivering, her green eyes so blurred by tears that they were completely unreadable, she was running, heading straight for him.  
Caesar held his arms out to her, just as he had that first night, and she flew at him, smashing her fists into his chest, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing back into the door he had just closed.  
Eyes wide at the suddeness of her attack, he dropped the black and gold box he had managed to hold on to even throughout his scuffle with Julius, heard it thud to the ground and tumble away as he pulled up his arms, trying to catch hold of the fists slamming into his chest.  
Willow was sobbing, her cheeks flushed, screaming at him, her frosty but nonetheless controlled demeanour of the interview completely a thing of the past, and Caesar could do nothing but grapple with her, pinning her flailing hands against his body, and still she continued to fight against him, trying to wrench her wrists free of his grasp.  
"Willow? Willow! Stop, please! I don't want to hurt you..."  
Willow heard the plea in his voice, but it only made her fight harder.  
"You don't want to hurt me?" she screamed. "You've already hurt me!"  
A stricken look flashed across Caesar's features.  
"What have I done?" he gasped, automatically loosening his hold on her a little, worried he was physically harming her right then.  
"Where were you last night? With someone else? I heard tonight I'm probably just one in a long line of women!"  
She jerked her hands out of his grasp and backed away, eyes flashing but still weeping violently, and the open-mouthed expression on his face pulled her up short.  
"What?" he managed to get out. "Where did that come from?"  
At that very moment, Caesar didn't know whether he should feel offended or saddened that she would believe such a thing about him. Looking in her eyes, though, in spite of her apparent fury, he saw not anger but fear, and he collected his thoughts as quickly as he could, suddenly very aware of Delta's parting comments about Willow being fragile, and he said quietly:  
"Willow, I would never do that to you. I would never do that to anyone, but especially not you... Never you..."  
She was still crying but uncertainty had clouded in her expression, and she pulled her long-sleeved wrap tightly around her body, hugging herself, eyeing him cautiously from a distance of a few feet, holding back when he reached hesitantly out to her.  
"Willow, please..."  
It was barely noticeable, but she flinched when his fingers gently cupped her upper arm, although she didn't try and pull away again. Still sniffing away the tears, she was gazing up at him, those luminous green eyes trying to read him, desperately trying to decide whether or not to trust this man from the Capitol, this man who was the face of The Hunger Games.  
"Why didn't you come?"  
"My producer caught me as I was on my way out. It was gone two in the morning before I even left the studio."  
Willow hated to admit it, but his eyes seemed guileless and honest, and there was no trace of a tremor in his voice to suggest he was lying, in spite of her putting him on the spot.  
Her lower lip trembled again, and a fresh wave of tears began to slide over her cheeks as he finally dared to step forward so he was stood in front of her, and he used the pads of his thumbs to tenderly wipe them away, cupping her cheeks in his palms and tilting her head back so she had no choice but to hold his gaze.  
"I've been thinking of nothing but you for days now, ever since that moment I watched you step onto the stage at the reaping... Even then, there was something about you I couldn't get out of my mind..."  
Willow's eyebrows had drawn together in a puzzlement, clearly even more confused now, and that little furrow over the bridge of her nose made Caesar melt.  
"I... I think..." He swallowed heavily. "I think I'm in love with you."  
Neither Caesar nor Willow had realised they were holding their breath until they exhaled at exactly the same moment, her more shakily than him, and she stared at him in amazement. Whatever she'd been expecting to hear, that hadn't been it.  
Was he telling the truth? Was he really in love with her? And even as Willow asked herself those questions, she was already counteracting them with the argument of why would he need to lie? What could Caesar Flickerman, darling of the Capitol, possibly have to gain from admitting he loved a girl from District 7?  
Nothing, she thought, absolutely nothing. In fact, if he were to say it out loud to anyone but her, who knew what might happen to him? Beating? Whipping? Being turned into an avox, forced into a lifetime of silence and servitude? And the idea of him being harmed caused a hidden hand to twist and pull at her heart.  
Loving someone from the districts... How would his adoring fans feel about that? They might have thought it sweet that he had danced with her, squealed with delight when he'd kissed her, but to learn he was actually in love with her? Would they feel she was beneath a man of his position, deem her unworthy? And what of President Snow? A girl from the districts, a tribute she may be, but from the districts nevertheless, for his Master of Ceremonies? And then the realisation struck her that being a tribute would have no bearing on the matter. Tributes were nothing but playthings. A victor, on the other hand...  
Caesar was still gazing at her expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer, with the open hope that could only be displayed by someone from the Capitol.  
The Capitol... Could she really be in love with someone from this place, Willow asked herself? Could she really be in love with Caesar Flickerman - the last stop between the tributes and The Hunger Games arena - with his dazzling white smile and his compassionate chocolate brown eyes...? The man who embodied everything she should hate?  
Her lower lip quivered again, but the tears were gone now, replaced by a questioning scrutinization. Her face was still cupped between his hands, and she used the opportunity to watch him, to look into his eyes, and to see the truth emblazoned there.  
He did love her.  
Willow strained up on her tiptoes, allowed her lips to brush lightly against his, and then she dropped back down onto the soles of her bare feet.  
"I think I love you, too," she whispered, surprising both herself and him as the declaration tumbled out of her mouth, and yet she knew that she had never spoken a truer word.  
Caesar's heart soared into his throat and, unable to speak, without thinking about it, he scooped her up and crashed his lips onto hers. They clung together, exhilarated, terrified, in love, and that kiss was different. It was longer, deeper, more unrelenting than any embrace they'd shared before, a precursor to something so much bigger. Her hands cupped his shoulders as she arched into him, and he tilted her back, his tongue sweeping her lips.  
"Do you mean it?" he murmured. "Really mean it?"  
Eyes closed, she nodded, her mouth still pressed against his. "Really... I love you."  
She felt him smile against her lips, sensed the adoration in the eyes she knew were gazing down at her.  
"I feel like the luckiest person in the world"  
She opened her eyes then, startled by the wonder in his voice, and he sucked in a breath as the gold-flecked green gems took him straight back to the first moment he had seen their true beauty at the tribute parade.  
"I need you." Caesar gasped as Willow raked her nails gently down his back, and he lifted her back into his arms and started to carry her across the roof towards the marble bench. She wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in how good it felt to have him against her again.  
They didn't make it as far as the seat. They found the grass first and Caesar sank down there, still kissing her, like it might be the last time, and he wanted to memorize her. His mouth was thorough, gentle and slow and agonizing, and she thought she knew what it felt like to want him, but the desperation to feel him inside her had never been so strong.  
He groaned as her body slipped onto his erection, sinking up and down until there was no space between them, watching her head roll back as she ground herself down and around on him, waiting to hear that desperate pleasure in his halting breath. She reached down to kiss him again, long and slow, and his hips bucked upwards as he breathed:  
"Willow, I'm going to... I'm sorry I can't - "  
And she silenced his words with another kiss, speeding up the rhythm of her hips to push him over the edge.  
He came with a moan, gripping her hips helplessly, and Willow felt his release inside of her. Although it wasn't the first time, it was somehow so much more intimate, more complete, than it had been before, and she pressed herself down onto him, a strangled cry escaping her lips as her own orgasm rushed through her.  
He sat up afterwards, she leaned back into him, resting between his thighs, and he wrapped his arms around her tight, neither of them ready for the sun to rise, neither of them ready for the inevitable goodbyes that they knew had to come. They didn't sleep. They simply sat together, murmuring about their lives before each other. Willow explained about district life, told him about her parents' deaths, something she hadn't shared with anyone, not the heartbreaking details, anyway, her stay in the community home, her job in 7, and Caesar told Willow about growing up in the Capitol, his visits to the training tower as a child, once all the tributes had gone, how his father had allowed he and his older brother to use the training stations, how they had wrestled, fought, learned to fight as only siblings could.  
"What's his name?" Willow asked softly. "Your brother, I mean?"  
Caesar's eyes took on a faraway look and his answer was evasive when he said:  
"He's gone now, the boy I knew..."  
She glanced up at him, mildly surprised at the wistfulness of his tone.  
"You know him already."  
"Do I?"  
Willow searched her memory for someone she had met that could be related to Caesar. With the exception of Ash's prep team, Chilton Meadows and Caesar himself, she didn't think she'd met any Capitol men.  
"Yes... In fact it was he who left your rose at the table on the morning after the first interview."  
Caesar smiled gently at her perplextion, kissed her tenderly on the top of the head.  
"His name is Julius. He's the avox for floor 7."


	13. Into The Arena

Willow stared up at him for a long moment, shock transforming her face, and at once, Caesar read her expression as one of distaste, and looked away ashamedly, suddenly refusing to meet her gaze.  
"What happened to him?" Willow forced out, her heart aching at the misery in Caesar's eyes.  
The Master of Ceremonies shook his head, his lips set in a tight line.  
"You don't want to know... It's not exactly a matter of pride, having an avox in the family."  
"Caesar? Caesar, look at me..."  
"You're disgusted, I can see it in your eyes."  
It took her a moment to realise that he believed she thought less of him because of what had happened to his brother.  
"I'm not disgusted because he's an avox, Caesar," she explained gently. "I'm horrified for him, for you..."  
Caesar looked at her, uncertainty etched into his features, still wondering what had possessed him to tell Willow about Julius in the first place. He'd not told anyone about his brother since the day the peacekeepers had made him an avox; most of Panem, the Capitol included, were not aware he even had a brother. Caesar shuddered inwardly at the thought of his secret becoming public knowledge, and he hated himself for it. He wasn't ashamed of his sibling, far from it, but the residents of the Capitol had nothing to do but gossip and stories became crazier by the moment. He couldn't risk that for the sake of his sister, his parents, the family name... Willow was different, though. She loved him, surely she wouldn't judge?  
"When we were younger, he... fell in... with a crowd of people who wanted to end oppression in the districts, who wanted to end The Hunger Games... You don't say things like that anywhere in Panem and expect to get away with it, least of all here, in the Capitol. Peacekeepers caught a group of them one night, Julius was amongst them. Because my father was head gamemaker, President Snow gave him an ultimatum - death by firing squad or making him an avox... My father was - is - harsh, but not totally cruel... Didn't want to have watch his son die, I guess... Better to leave that to the parents in the districts..." he finished quietly, voicing her unspoken comment.  
Willow silently thought back to the brief moments of interaction she had had with the male avox, usually over breakfast. To check if she could serve herself, his probable loneliness reminding her of the tabby cat, him shaking Caesar awake, his movements so familiar, now that she knew, the look that had told her Caesar had made it safely out of the training centre after he'd spent the night with her, and she blushed a little as she wondered just how much of her he'd seen naked that day. She'd sensed he was Capitol, and she saw it now. The dark, knowing eyes, the arch of his eyebrows, so much like his brother's. Julius Flickerman. He was probably nearing forty, a few years older than Caesar, but not by much, she thought. How heartbreaking it must be for the two of them, never allowed to meet...  
Only they had met, hadn't they? Fuelled by Caesar's desire for her. And suddenly Willow was afraid for them, they had done something so terribly dangerous, something that could be misconstrued as a rebellion in itself. The Capitol could do nothing worse to her, she was headed to the arena and almost certain death anyway, but for Caesar and Julius, there could be far more awful consequences if their deception was discovered.  
"We know the risks."  
As Caesar's voice broke through her panicked concerns, Willow swivelled round so she was sat facing him.  
"Do you, Caesar? How many things could they do to you, how many methods of punishment could they test out on you?" She knew there was hysteria creeping into her questions, but she couldn't quash it. The thought of him bolted down in some sterile room somewhere...  
"Let me worry about that." He wished now that he'd waited to tell her about Julius, that he'd left such information to break to her after the Games. "You need to concentrate on winning... You have to come back..."  
He couldn't be unaware that there would be people in the arena that had been training for this their entire lives, boys at least twice her size, girls who knew countless different ways to kill a person with a single blade, but the plea in the gaze that met hers was nothing like Willow had ever seen before. It was true desperation, and she knew then that, somehow, she had to win.  
"I will," she promised. "I'll come back."  
It wasn't in Willow's nature to go down without a fight, life itself had shown her that when it had dealt her the hand of fate that had killed her parents and left her alone. She could fight, she could hunt a little, she knew which plants could keep her alive. There was no reason why she couldn't survive.  
He pulled her in then, and she rested against his chest, listening to him, feeling his heart hammering rapidly against his ribcage, and she realised that despite the fact that everyone in Panem knew who he was, in spite of the Capitol's idolisation of him, Caesar Flickerman probably felt very alone most of the time. Who could he trust enough to tell his secrets to? Maybe only a handful of people.  
"Tell me about your family," she asked. And he did. His father, mother, sister and brother. And then he told her about Darius, their friendship, how the head peacekeeper had told him not to come tonight, and finally Venetia, her worry for him.  
"They love you," she murmured, when he had finished. "They want to keep you safe."  
He nodded. "Maybe the only people in the world who do."  
"I do."  
He exhaled slowly, kissed her hair, held her again, and they sat in silence, wrapped together, until the moon began to fade, watching the first glimmers of dawn spark across the city.  
A ray of lazy sunlight bounced off something shiny, and Caesar glanced across the roof to see what it was.  
The gold brocade band around the box he had brought with him. The black box containing the gift he had bought for her.  
Her resting eyes were open now, following his gaze, and she said quietly:  
"What is that?"  
"When you go into the arena, you're allowed to wear one thing that reminds you of home."  
He reluctantly extracted himself from her arms, flexing a little as he pushed himself onto his feet and stepped across to where the box had tumbled to a standstill several hours before, forgotten in the aftermath of her attack.  
"You didn't look like you had anything to take with you, and I thought this would remind you of... us..."  
He knelt beside her on the lush grass, held out the box and rested it in her outstretched hands when she offered them to him.  
She paused for a moment, taking the time to run her fingers over the silken exterior of the box, to trace the floral pattern of the brocade, before slowly raising the lid with her thumbs, stopping and staring down when she had it fully open.  
"Oh, Caesar, it's beautiful," she whispered, and he could see, by the look of awe on her face, that she wasn't just saying it to be polite.  
"The jeweller who made it said rose quartz is known as the stone of unconditional love," he told her. "That it symbolizes the ability to open ones heart to love. I guess I bought it for me as much as for you."  
She looked up at him through her lashes, a tender smile playing around her lips as she heard the emotion in his voice.  
"Will you wear it?" he asked. "As your token?"  
"Yes." She nodded, her tone serious in spite of her smile. "Put it on for me?"  
He scooped up the piece delicately, even though he knew there was little chance of it breaking, unclasped it, and he kissed the back of her neck as he fastened it there, breathing in the scent of her, hoping to inhale enough to last him for a lifetime, just in case...  
"Let me see," he ordered softly, and she spun round so she was opposite him once more.  
The silver chain sat at exactly the right length for the pendant to nestle at the top of her cleavage, the matching leaves and vines creeping and crawling over the rounded rose quartz heart. It was perfect.  
The sun was almost up now, and they both knew that soon Caesar would have to go.  
"Come home to me," he whispered, and this time it was she who kissed him, kneeling up so they were face to face, her hands caressing his cheeks, curling around his neck, pressing herself against him as his arms slipped around her.  
And that was how Delta and Julius found them when they stepped out onto the roof a few minutes later, and the pair stopped dead, not because of the intimacy before them, but because of the certainty, because of the fact that seeing them now, nobody could have doubted the love between Caesar Flickerman and Willow Monroe.  
Willow's lower lip trembled again when they pulled apart and she noticed the mentor and Julius standing by the door, and she let out a hollow sound that made Caesar's throat dry up.  
It was time.  
They gazed fearfully at one another, and then he pulled her in tight, his cheek resting on her hair, each enfolding themselves in the other until it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.  
"I love you," he gasped, willing himself not to cry, knowing it was something she didn't need to see right now.  
"And I love you."  
Delta stood beside Willow as Julius guided Caesar away, watching them go with an unrivalled ache in her chest, trying to hide the tears she couldn't help shedding.  
Caesar could barely make his feet move, the lump of lead that had seemingly replaced his heart was weighing him down, but he made it to the stairwell between floors five and four before it overwhelmed him, and he sank onto the top step with a strangled moan, suddenly feeling like he was suffocating, and Julius laid an arm around his shoulders, not caring if anyone saw, holding his brother as he sobbed, giving him the only comfort he could. In reality, what use would words have been, anyway?

Delta stood in the bathroom whilst Willow showered, saying nothing until a subdued Juno appeared with a cover over her arm. Her outfit to wear to the arena, the tribute figured. She still had to look the part, even for this journey. All of Panem would be watching.  
Finally dressed in a simple green satin shirt and black linen trousers, Willow found her voice.  
"Any last words of advice?"  
"You're not up to the Cornucopia bloodbath, so clear out as soon as the gong sounds. Find water, and stay away from the others until you can get yourself a weapon."  
Willow nodded. "Thankyou, Delta. For everything."  
And the mentor knew Willow wasn't talking about anything to do with the Games.

Juno guided Willow up onto the roof, explained that her final preparations and dressing would be done in the catacombs beneath the arena, and then a hovercraft appeared from nowhere, and a ladder dropped down in front of Willow.  
As soon as she took hold of it, some kind of current froze her in place, and it was as she was being lifted inside that she caught sight of the black and gold box still lying on the roof where she had placed it, and she looked frantically at her stylist, pleading with her to retrieve it. One more thing to remind her of Caesar.  
Once inside the aircraft, whilst she was still attached to the ladder, a pleasant-looking young woman in a white coat approached Willow carrying a thick syringe.  
"Your tracker," she announced, with no preliminaries.  
Despite the current holding her completely still, Willow felt the sharp stab of pain as the needle entered her skin and injected the tiny chip deep in her forearm. Now the gamemakers would always be able to find her.  
The ladder released her as soon as the tracker was in place, and disappeared to collect Juno from the roof. The stylist handed Willow the box as soon as they were reunited, and a young avox girl, maybe a year or two younger than Willow herself, led them along to a room where breakfast was laid out.  
Juno forced Willow to eat: "You're not going to make it back if you starve to death."  
And so Willow ate, ready to do anything that would give her an edge over the other tributes, but she tasted nothing. She could have been eating paper.  
They couldn't have been on the aircraft for more than twenty minutes when the windows blacked out, and Willow knew that meant they were almost at the arena.  
The ladder dropped them straight underground, right into the catacombs, and Juno held her hand as they followed directions to her private chamber - the Launch Room, the Capitol called it. The districts referred to it as the Stockyard, the place animals were taken before they were slaughtered.  
Willow knew she would be the only tribute to ever use this room. Caesar had told her that the arenas were preserved after the Games had ended, and were popular tourist sites for the Capitol residents.  
She managed to keep her breakfast down as she cleaned her teeth, and allowed Juno to braid her hair, and then a different avox arrived with her clothes package, closely followed by a gamemaker who ummed and ahhed over letting her retain her necklace. In the end though, he allowed it, just as Willow had known he would: Caesar had been a gamemaker, he knew what would clear a review.  
As soon as he'd left, Juno helped Willow dress in the simple undergarments, the slightly fitted dark brown combat trousers, the black t-shirt, and the khaki green mid-length jacket. The boots were black, supple leather with a rubber sole, good for running, was Willow's first thought. And climbing.  
"Comfortable?"  
The tribute swung her arms, squatted down, jogged on the spot.  
"Perfect fit," she answered, feeling the weight of the rose quartz pendant settle back where it belonged, right above her heart.  
"Okay," Juno said. "Now we wait."  
Willow sipped at a glass of water, saying nothing until a mechanical male voice announced it was time to prepare for the launch, and then she clutched at Juno's hand as they walked over to the metal plate.  
"Remember what Delta said - find water, stay away from the others."  
Willow nodded.  
"Make sure he's okay," she whispered.  
"I will," Juno promised quietly.  
It was the last thing they said to one another, for as soon as the words left Juno's lips, the circular glass cylinder started to lower over Willow, separating them, and then the metal plate beneath her began to force her upwards, pushing her out into the warm sunlight, and for a moment she was blinded by its intensity.  
She could smell the trees, see the forest on the other side of the Cornucopia, but something was wrong. The circle of tributes was far larger than usual, and as she looked to her right, Willow saw why.  
On a podium between every one of the twenty-four tributes, there was something far more potentially deadly to contend with.  
On a podium between each of the tributes was a hideous creation, a muttation comprised of an ape and some kind of insect, and the creature was grinning right at her.  
She glanced swiftly around the circle, every one of the mutts was beaming evilly at the tribute to their left, and she knew immediately what it meant.  
In order to play any real part in this show, the tributes first had to make it past a mutt designed especially for them.  
So much for avoiding the Cornucopia, Willow thought.  
And then the excited voice of Claudius Templesmith boomed out over the arena:  
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the forty-ninth Hunger Games begin!"


	14. Mutts & Careers

Sixty seconds. That's how long the tributes were required to stand on their podiums before the gong would ring out and the landmines would become dormant once more. If they stepped down before, they'd get their lower half blown off.  
That was the first thing Caesar had to worry about, and before the cameras even started rolling, he was willing Willow to not panic, not to leap away in fear.  
When the image of the arena flashed up in front of Claudius and himself, he was so intent on finding her amongst the competitors that, at first, he didn't notice the circle was a hundred percent bigger than usual.  
With her bright red hair - why had they not put her back to her original colour, Caesar wondered? She stood out like a sore thumb against the muted green and brown background! - she was easy to pick out, and he saw her looking to her right, an expression of horror clouding her delicate features.  
And when Caesar followed her gaze, he knew why.  
Mutts.  
His blood ran cold, his hands started to tremble, and he looked across at Claudius with wide eyes, suddenly hating the excitement he saw in the announcer's face at the unexpected extra challenge the tributes would be facing, and he abhorred himself for all the times before that he'd sat here with that same look of anticipation.  
Caesar forced himself to breathe slowly as the countdown began, knowing he was now broadcasting live right across Panem. The entire country was watching him, and he had to be as he had always been in the past.  
Twenty-four mutts. One for each tribute? Were they designed to only pick off one tribute only, or was anyone game?  
He knew Delta would have told Willow to run, that she wouldn't survive the Cornucopia bloodbath, but that was without having any idea about this new threat.  
Get to the Cornucopia, Willow, he begged her silently. Get yourself a weapon, anything that will help you defend yourself against everything in there...

One minute, Willow thought, one minute to decide what to do, where to go. She glanced towards the forest, wondering if there would be safety within the trees, and dismissed the idea immediately. Delta and Vinnie had told her and Ash to run, but the tribute knew she needed a weapon. That mutt was looking at her like she was lunch, and she had no intention of letting it get that close to her.  
So, the Cornucopia it would have to be. She was quick, light on her feet, she could make it, Willow told herself.  
And that thought persuaded her to take a good look at the giant golden horn that was the Cornucopia. It's curved tail was to her left, and the mouth of it was packed full of everything that the tributes needed to stay alive in the arena. Water containers, food parcels, weapons of all shapes and sizes, medicine tubs, to name just a few things. Scattered around on the grass beyond it were other items like tent packs, outer clothing, plastic sheets, their value decreased the further away from the cone they were, but all of it could be considered useful in the right circumstances.  
"Stay away from the Cornucopia, Willow."  
The tribute could hear Delta's voice in her head, but she had to have a way of killing this mutt, and muttation aside, the spoils were so very tempting.  
That was when Willow spotted it. Right in the mouth of the Cornucopia, nestling against a large backpack, the sun glinting on the razor sharp metal, was a black handled axe.  
That's mine, Willow thought. They put that there for me, knowing I'd be able to see it.  
She looked around for Ash, trying to ignore the mutt that was still leering at her, and she found her counterpart a few tributes to her right.  
He caught her eye, indicated to the Cornucopia, and she knew that he was telling her to go for it.  
Boing!  
Willow dived off the podium as soon as the gong sounded and sprinted towards the golden horn, not stopping to look if the mutt was already on her heels, keeping nothing but the axe in her line of vision. If she could just reach it, she had a chance against anything.  
She made it to the weapon first, wrenched it free, spun round with it clenched in her right hand. Most of the other tributes had followed her towards the Cornucopia, even the timid ones, but the odd one or two had taken off for the dense forest behind them, unwilling to be caught up in the bloodbath.  
Someone shoved her, and she stumbled backwards, already swinging the axe defensively. The offender shrieked and cursed at her, but she used the opportunity to dart past them and back out into the openness of the field before the Cornucopia. Whoever it was didn't follow her.  
A shaking hand grabbed her, and she jerked round again to see Ash beside her, a bow and a sheath of arrows slung over his shoulder.  
"Come on!" he yelled, and the pair raced away towards the forest, slowing when they saw the mutts were still pacing impatiently on their podiums.  
Why had they not moved?  
Boing!  
The gong sounded again, and then Willow and Ash knew precisely why the mutts hadn't given chase: They had been required to wait an extra minute on their podiums, to give the tributes a head start.  
The District 7 tributes both took up defensive positions as they watched the mutts who had been placed beside them leap off their metal plates, but they did nothing more than start pacing the boundaries of the Cornucopia circle.  
"They can't come inside," Ash breathed. "We're safe from them here."  
"Yeah, unfortunately everything else in here wants to kill us."  
They stayed as close to the perimeter as they could get without being anywhere near the mutts, and paused briefly to watch some of the other muttations charging away towards the forest, heading after the tributes who hadn't stuck around to claim weapons.  
An unearthly scream rang out around the arena, and Willow glanced over in time to see the insect-ape spring onto a retreating tribute, and bite through their neck. Blood spurted out, and then the boy dropped limply to the ground. The mutt backed up, pawed at the fallen figure, and then vanished.  
"They disappear when their tribute dies," she said. "That must mean there's one for each of us."  
"Can they be killed, d'you think?"  
Willow glanced back at the horn. The fighting was still in full swing, and several bodies were spreadeagled on the ground. No one was taking any notice of them yet, but it would only be a matter of time before the bloodbath ended and those who had avoided it would become the hunted.  
"Let's find out, shall we?" she said, sounding far braver than she felt. She held the axe in the way she had seen her father do on the occasion they had been faced by a bear in the woods back home. This creature looked far more agile than the grizzly had been, and twice as deadly, but she had to start somewhere, Willow reasoned.  
"Here, use this." Ash pushed the bow into Willow's free hand. "That way we won't have to get too close."  
He turned to offer her an arrow from the leather sheath on his back, and she passed him the axe to hold whilst she took aim at one of the mutts.  
A moving target who knew she was preparing to shoot at it. This was a new challenge, Willow thought, as she relaxed into the shooting stance that had served her best during training: knees slightly bent, feet planted firmly. Breathe in, breathe out, slow, steady, ready.  
She let the arrow fly.  
The mutt leaped to one side just before the tip was about pierce its muscular arm, and it grinned at her, baring its yellowed canines menacingly.  
"Let me try something," Ash said, as she plucked another arrow from the sheath, and with that he dashed away from her.  
"What are you doing?" she screamed at him, suddenly fearing that she'd badly misjudged him, that he was going to leave her there with two mutts and a single arrow.  
"Willow, it's following me, look!"  
And indeed, he was right, one of the mutts was completely ignoring her now, bounding around the perimeter of the Cornucopia circle, its attention firmly focused on its own target, and Willow knew what she had to do.  
She aimed again, this time at the mutt which she knew to be Ash's - he could return the favour just as soon as his was dead, she decided.  
The arrow flew, embedding itself straight into the mutt's heart, and Willow felt a hidden hand tug at her chest when it cried out in agony, but, despite the seemingly fatal wound, it didn't die. It dropped to its knees, it's gaze still fixed firmly on Ash, totally oblivious to the person who had delivered the injury.  
The two tributes looked at each other.  
"Maybe they can't die," Ash said, gnawing at his lower lip.  
Willow looked over her shoulder again, her eyes widening as she saw someone by the Cornucopia pointing their way.  
"They have to be able to be killed, surely, otherwise we're all going to end up being picked off by mutts instead of one another... Not much excitement in that..."  
Think, Willow! the tribute said to herself, with another glimpse at the career pack.  
She could see Jewel and Bourne selecting their weapons now the five remaining career's had secured the Cornucopia as their base. Everyone else was either dead or had fled.  
She watched as the hulking boy from District 11 launched a spear through the pacing mutt on his tail, and the creature disappeared before it hit the floor.  
"Ohh... Ohh... Ash, they can die," Willow got out. "You have to kill your own mutt, but they can die!"  
Ash stared fearfully at the writhing body before him.  
"Use the axe, we can't afford to lose anymore arrows with my mutt still alive."  
Shouts were ringing out from behind them now, the career pack was on the move, and Willow just knew she was destined to be Jewel's first victim outside of the bloodbath.  
"Hurry!" she urged Ash, knowing they were currently still caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.  
Ash paled, swallowed, charged straight at the creature. The mutt tried to clamber to its feet, clawed out at him with its giant digits, but Ash swung the axe back and smashed if forward at precisely the right moment, severing its hand. It howled again, noticeably more weakly this time, and it vanished when the blade of the axe lodged deep in its neck.  
"It's gone," he gasped. "We did it!"  
Willow gave him a small smile, and handed him the bow, retrieving her bloodied axe from his shaking grasp, all the time very aware that the career pack was closing in, and that soon knives and spears would be hurtling in their direction.  
"Now, run, get into the forest!"  
"What about you?" His eyes took on the panicked look of prey, although whether that was fear for her or terror at the thought of being left alone, Willow couldn't tell. Either way, it wasn't safe for him to remain with her.  
"I need to get rid of this mutt, and there's no time to do it together. You have to go, before the careers get here. Their mutts will keep them from chasing you. Go!" Her tone was urgent, and Ash knew that in order to preserve his own life, he had to do as she said.  
"Ok."  
"If I make it, I'll find you in the forest," she promised, and she shoved him away, out of the Cornucopia circle, and swept round to face the advancing careers.  
They were around twenty feet away from Willow when she heard Jewel holler, "She's mine!" in a tone that brooked no argument, and the District 7 tribute knew that Bourne, Mace, Ava and the D4 male would let her have her way. She also knew it would be her salvation; a plan presented itself as soon as she saw the sword clutched in Jewel's hand - the District 1 tribute would have to be close to attack, and watching the pack thunder towards her, Willow could see she was faster than them. All of them. As far as this instance went, having enough food their entire life was going to be a disadvantage. Their solid bodies might sustain them longer, but it made them more lumbersome, heavier, slower.  
The others held back a little as Jewel charged at Willow, and the District 7 tribute heard the high-pitched whistle as the sword flew at her, but when Jewel looked again, Willow was gone, darting across the now unprotected Cornucopia circle. She fell against the mutt who had been pacing about behind Willow, and scrambled to her feet, but the creature did nothing more than snarl at her and take off around the edge of the circle in pursuit of the escaping tribute.  
Again Willow didn't stop to glance behind her, so she had no idea how far away her either the pack or the muttation was, she saw an opening on the far side of the circle and simply ran for it.  
"I'll come back." The promised words thudded through her head even as her feet pounded over the grass. She had sworn she would go home. She had to keep her vow, and that was the only thought in her head. The angry voices of the careers had faded, and she risked looking back to see where the mutt was. It was to her left, still behind her, bounding excitedly around the semi circle that separated it from her.  
She had to get out of the circle before it reached the other side, that way she could be ready to fight it when it pounced, and, so long as she survived, she would then be safe from the careers as well.  
She made it.  
Through the perimeter, out into the open grassland beyond, but Willow could feel the mutt gaining on her, and she swung round whilst she was still running, the axe arching with her.  
The mutt grabbed at her, it's great slashing fingers grazing her abdomen through the khaki jacket and the t-shirt, but she managed to back away before it could take hold of her. She crouched down, truly frightened now, the axe held out in front of her - should she be offensive or defensive, she wondered, wide-eyed as the creature's eyes pierced into hers.  
It clawed heavily at her again, knocking her backwards, and she ended up sprawled on the ground, winded, the axe sailing from her grasp. She stretched up to try and fend it off with her hands, and as it ducked down to clamp its teeth around her throat, Willow's eyes closed, and the last thought that shot through her mind was an apology to Caesar for not making it home...


	15. An Empty Stage

_"Would you, ah, care to show us a few steps of your favourite dance?"  
"Well, my favourite dance requires two people... so I can only show you if you'll dance with me..."_  
As the heels of Caesar Flickerman's cobalt blue boots echoed across the cavernous studio, the emptiness of the stage only seemed to reiterate the hollowness in his heart. She should be here with him, his Willow, in front of him, her luminous green eyes sparkling up at him, her small hand tucked into his, his fingers cupping her waist as they spun infinitely round, the chiffon skirts of her dress floating behind her, tangling between his legs whilst they danced on and on into the night...  
There was something infinitely magical about an unlit stage, he thought. It had such potential, an anticipation of brightness and energy. He'd stood here before without the audiences spread out above him, of course, but never like this, never with such memories haunting him, never with almost ghostly footsteps walking along behind him, seemingly following him, leaving invisible footprints that were so much smaller than his own. Footprints of the young men and women who had visited his stage, the children whose attributes he'd tried so hard to sell to the watching crowds, for even though only one could go home every year, they were all equal on his stage.  
Until now.  
Now had come something unlike anything that had ever graced those glittering boards before. Something he had willingly given his heart and his soul to in just a few mere days.  
Willow Monroe. The girl from District 7.  
Glancing across at the stage curtain, Caesar could still picture her there, her dyed red hair curling gently down to her waist, those beautiful eyes gazing at him in awe from that delicate face with its porcelain white skin. Her feet on the dark line that separated stage and backstage, waiting patiently for him to announce her. She had taken his breath away every time he'd looked at her, the most beautiful thing his gaze had ever rested on.  
She hadn't been the last one on his stage, but she was the only one he could see in his mind's eye as he stood gazing out over the rows and rows of seats, the seats where, just one day ago, the adoring crowds had applauded, dished out standing ovations, smiled as they'd waved off twenty-three children who were heading to their deaths, for the twenty-fourth would be the victor. The one who held on the longest. The only one who would survive.  
And it could still be her.  
Caesar had been half out of his chair as the insect-ape had launched itself at her, ready to scream at the gamemakers - they were all wired in to one another, the studio and the gamemakers sanctum - to kill it before it took her life. It would have meant the end of his career for certain, possibly even his freedom or his own life, but the unexpected call for mercy may have shocked one of the gamemakers into action long enough for Willow to escape.  
But, as he'd opened his mouth to beg, the mutt had shrieked, its features contorting, and then it had collapsed forward onto the terrified tribute's fallen body, agonized groans emitting from its lips, the camera panning swiftly outwards to reveal an arrow wedged in its spinal cord, rendering it helpless, but as had happened with the mutt before, it didn't die. Willow would still have to kill it.  
Another camera zoomed in on the figure dashing across the grassland towards her.  
An ally.  
She'd saved him, and he'd come back for her.  
Ash.  
Caesar had sprawled back into his seat, trying to suck in enough breaths to quieten his hammering heart, chewing the inside of his cheek to stave off audible moans of relief, tasting blood, willing his hands to stop shaking, ignoring the horrified curiosity etched on Claudius Templesmith's face, and all he could hear were Darius Casanova's words from the previous evening:  
_"You're going to have to report on this, no matter how you feel about her. And if she dies, are you gonna be able to do that without your voice trembling?"_  
Caesar had pushed himself upright, forced on a smile that could have blinded those unused to artificial light, and had exclaimed in a voice that could have been bordering on neurotic:  
"Well, that was intense!"  
And by then Claudius Templesmith had recovered from the shock enough to take over from Caesar, the camera swinging back round to him.  
They had watched, agog, as Willow eased herself from beneath the mutt's body, struggling under the shear weight and size of it, staggered across to her axe and embedded it in the animal's neck.  
"Thanks," she'd managed to gasp as Ash skidded to a halt beside her.  
"Don't mention it," he grinned. "Allies?"  
"Sure... You're a pretty useful guy to have around."  
"Come on, we should go. The careers were watching us, it won't take them long to work out how to get rid of their mutts, and then they'll be able to get outside of the Cornucopia."  
Willow gasped as they set off at a jog, and Ash's eyes fell to the blood slowly seeping through the thick material of her jacket.  
"You're hurt," he said.  
"We'll take a look when we're somewhere safer," Willow decided. "Too risky doing it now."  
The teenager looked concerned but he didn't argue, and they continued into the forest, experienced eyes scanning constantly for hidden dangers, bellies that knew how to be hungry always watching out for food sources. They had left the Cornucopia with so little, nothing but an axe and a bow and three arrows, but they weren't trapped in the circle like the careers, and they weren't dead, so right at that moment, they were feeling fairly fortunate.  
"Any sign of water?"  
Ash shook his head. "No, no sign of anything really. Just trees."  
"Then we'll keep going a while longer."  
And they had. It was early afternoon by the time Willow looked around intently one more time before she sank down against a thick trunked tree, immediately pulling the jacket away from her torso and peeling up the blood soaked t-shirt to take a proper look at the gash made by the mutt's claws.  
On closer inspection, the wound wasn't too deep, but blood was seeping from it slowly, and it was long, running in a jagged line from her bellybutton to the lowest part of her hip bone, almost following the route Caesar's mouth had taken that night in the training centre, she realised, half sad and half annoyed at herself for thinking of such things now.  
"We need to get that cleaned up," Ash said pointedly. "Can you carry on a bit further?"  
Willow nodded. "I don't feel that bad, really."  
They both started as the sound of the cannon began reverberating around the arena. One, two... three... continuing on, one after the other, until they reached fourteen, each shot representing a death. On the first day, the cannon wasn't fired until the bloodbath was over and the killers had dispersed because because it was so hard to keep track of the fatalities. The cannons told Willow and Ash two things: There were fourteen dead, and ten left alive. It also meant that the careers had made it out of the Cornucopia circle.  
The District 7 duo exchanged a look. Depending on which way a person viewed it, their odds of surviving had either just doubled or had taken a nose dive. The positive news was that they had probably made it through the first day, the negative side to it all was that they had no access to water, nor much food, and one of them was injured. It meant too that the possibility of having to fight it out between them had become a lot more real, but neither of them mentioned it as they resumed their conversation.  
"Okay," Ash said softly, and then, as a thought hit him: "You want me to climb, see if I can see any ponds or lakes?"  
The cameras kept cutting to them, throughout the afternoon, and Caesar was almost certain that Willow's perseverance to keep moving despite her injury was the only thing keeping him sane, the only thing keeping him rooted to his chair; the actor in him had taken over everything else, for what would happen if he stared too long, if the glib words no longer slipped from his lips, if the masque, so carefully built up over the past fifteen years, fell? Once could surely be explained by the sheer magnitude of the mutt's assult, anything else he should expect. They could still get to her, in the arena, if they wanted to. An artfully placed firebomb whilst she was distracted, a feast, carefully constructed to draw the contestants into a killing spree. So many opportunities to kill her. Caesar stayed where he was and let the slick words come.

Ash couldn't locate any water, just trees, as far as the eye could see one way, hills in the other direction, the two broken only by the openness of the Cornucopia circle, and they had quickly agreed to stay in the forest. The hills could potentially offer so much, but they knew the woods, knew that if the worst came to the worst, there was tree bark to eat, sap they could drink. Spending their entire lives in District 7 was finally going to be an advantage.  
They continued pushing forwards, but with no water, no food, and still bleeding, both Willow and Ash knew that she wouldn't last much longer, and so, as late afternoon began to darken the arena, they began setting up snares in the hope of catching a meal for the morning, and looking in earnest for anything they could eat. They saw no animals scurrying around, but there were tracks, easily recognizable as rabbit and deer, leading them to the conclusion the food was there, it was just staying well hidden.  
Willow found a blackberry bush, risking the thorns to pluck the fruits from deep within the thicket, in an effort to conceal that any had been picked at all. Upon finding nothing more on the ground, Ash had scaled a young maple tree, (after all, there was no point in hiding the fact that they'd gathered blackberries only to give away their position with such an easily spotted clue as a tree stripped of its bark), axe in hand, to harvest enough bark for both of them, piling up the tough outer layers - to eat that would be tantamount to nibbling on a chair leg, he knew that much from an unfortunate experience when he was eight - and hacking out the cambium.  
He filled his pockets with the stuff, and dropped lightly to the ground once more. The pair checked their snares one final time, and then walked for another ten minutes before finally agreeing on a tree to rest in, and Ash hoisted Willow up the trunk of an enormous oak, and she reached down to pull him up behind her. The lower branches were thick but evenly distributed, and they made it halfway up before selecting an bough each to perch on. They could barely see the forest floor, and as such, they knew they were concealed from anyone who might be hunting them - for some reason, Jewel had certainly been intent on murdering Willow back at the Cornucopia, Ash thought worriedly, and if they'd worked out how to rid themselves of their mutts, the career pack would definitely be on the move, searching for victims.  
Despite the berries being plump and juicy and exceedingly edible, after a week of lining their stomachs with the decadent food of the Capitol, the tender bark felt a little hard to swallow, but they both knew it was nutritious and that was exactly what they needed right now.  
The blackberries had quenched their thirst to an extent, but they had also made the tributes realise just how dry their mouths and throats were, that their lips were beginning to crack, and they made a pact that if they hadn't found water by the following morning, they would go back to the maple and drive the axe deep enough to release the sap.

They hadn't been on the screen consistently - with all the deaths that day, two tributes marching through the forest wasn't considered exciting viewing - but Caesar had managed to keep track of Willow and Ash enough to know that, injury aside, they were doing alright. They'd travelled a good distance from the Cornucopia, found a sufficient amount to eat, they'd set snares and they'd found somewhere safe to rest. And what they couldn't see but he now could, was that maybe fifteen minutes walk straight ahead of them, was a shallow pool of water, fed by a trickling waterfall that tumbled over and through the rocks above it. As long as they continued on the same path they'd been on, they'd find it easily the following day.  
He was still on air when the anthem of Panem began to play and the seal of the Capitol lit up the twilight sky of the arena. Here in the city and out in the Districts, the spectators would be treated to full coverage of each death, every grisly detail, but in the arena, the remaining contestants would see nothing more than simple headshots of the fallen tributes, to keep them from having any advantage over the other players.  
Both tributes from District 3 were dead, as well as the girl from 4. The boy from 5 had met a particularly horrific end at the hands of his mutt, closely followed by his counterpart with hers. The pair from 6 were out, killed in the bloodbath, and the girl from 8. The quartet from 9 and 10 were gone, the girl from 11 and the boy from 12. All collected and cleaned up, made to look pretty for their journey back to their respective districts. All going home in plain wooden boxes, not in a blaze of glory as they must have hoped.  
Five careers left, Bourne, Jewel, Mace, Ava and Tyne, and five outsiders, Rosie from 12, Pitch from 11, Toby from 8, and Ash and Willow.  
Ten left, and nine of them had to die.  
_She had to be the one to come home, she had to be the lone victor._  
Caesar knew he was being selfish, knew that he was wishing for the deaths of the other tributes, but only one of them could win, and he wanted it, no, he needed it, to be Willow.  
He and Claudius signed off shortly after the arena's sky had gone black once more, and Caesar hurried away to his dressing room, shutting the door in the faces of the anxious prep team who had followed him there, locking himself away from the world, but feeling more trapped than he ever had before in his life.  
He didn't leave the broadcast centre at all that night, didn't remove his jacket or his makeup, he simply sat forward on the low suede sofa, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes glued to the television screen, praying to some long forgotten deity for a glimpse of Willow. There had been no more cannon shots, nobody else had become a victim of the careers, no one had succumbed to the elements, and Caesar had finally ventured out of his private rooms in search of coffee in the early hours of the morning, when even the studio's late shift had secreted themselves away in offices and prep rooms.  
And somehow he'd ended up listening to the heels of his cobalt blue boots echoing around the cavernous studio as he paced slowly across the empty, unlit stage, followed by the invisible, ghostly footsteps of three hundred and thirty-six dead tributes, the carefully concealed scorn of the fourteen previous victors, the anxiousness of the nine competitors who were soon to die, and the memory of one green-eyed beauty in her jay blue dress, her small hand tucked into his as they danced on and on into the night...


	16. Not Just A Girl

Caesar bolted upright when the room began vibrating in the aftermath of an explosion, and he sat stone still for a moment, gasping for air, until it slowly dawned on him what the noise was:  
A cannon. Death in the arena.  
He scrambled towards the television, bleary eyes scanning the list of tributes who were still alive, panicking when he missed her name the first time, frantically re-reading the panel at the side of the screen, releasing something between a sigh and a moan when he finally registered Willow's name was still on that list, and sinking back into his seat, sucking in breaths.  
How long had he been asleep?  
Caesar glanced at the clock to his right. Not even an hour had passed since he'd quietly let himself back into his dressing room, a mug of coffee clutched in trembling fingers. A mug of coffee that rested on the table beside the sofa, cold, untouched.  
The door opened then, Venetia's decorated face appearing in the gap, obvious concern blazing in her dark eyes, worried about what she would find.  
"I have coffee," she said softly upon seeing he was awake.  
"Come in, Vee," Caesar sighed, knowing he would soon have to interact with something other than a television screen anyway, and realising that his stylist was probably going to be the least painful thing to ease him into the day.  
She pushed her way in, making sure she secured the door behind her, and plunked the steaming mug of thick, black liquid into his waiting hands. He ignored the fact that it was too hot, and knocked it back in one long gulp, almost immediately feeling the caffeine working its way into his system.  
"How much coffee did you put in that?" he choked.  
"Hopefully enough to keep you awake for the rest of the day," she replied. "You look dreadful."  
He raised a blue eyebrow in the way he was wont to do when a person in his employ was sailing perilously close to overstepping the boundary from worker to someone more personal, but on this ocassion Venetia chose to ignore the gesture.  
"You do," she retorted at his unspoken comment. "Did you sleep at all?"  
He glared at her for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to reprimand her, and then: "Maybe an hour."  
"Are you going to be like this the whole time she's in there?"  
Caesar looked away and said nothing, and Venetia gave him a few minutes of reflection before she ordered him into the shower, saying that she would be back with the prep team in half an hour, that it was time to get ready.  
He stood beneath the citrus-scented waterfall for the full thirty minutes, at the time not sure if there were tears mingling with the spray, but when he stepped out and gazed in the mirror, his eyes were rimmed red, and he splashed them with cold water before stepping onto the mat which activated the heaters that would dry him. Leaving his hair wet, ready for the dye Venetia would use to touch up his hair, as she did daily, he pulled on a soft bathrobe and studied his reflection one last time before heading out to greet his prep team. The stylist had been right - he looked awful. He could have aged ten years overnight.  
It took them longer than usual, the shadows beneath his eyes needed covering, the carefully manicured nails required attention where he'd subconsciously bitten them to the quick during the dark hours of the night, but when they'd finished, Caesar looked just as he always did. Elegant, suave and, above all, calm. (Although, on reflection, the relaxed attitude was more likely due to the two neon green pills that Venetia had persuaded him to take along with his breakfast than anything Caesar had done himself.)  
He sauntered out of his dressing room just before nine in the morning, Venetia hard on his heels, following the route he had taken so many times before to the recording studio that, at this time, he shared with Claudius Templesmith. The soles of his boots rang confidently out through the corridor, his shoulders were back, his spine was straight, his smile dazzled everyone who crossed his path. He was the Master of Ceremonies, and the show must go on.

Caesar hadn't been the only one who had jerked awake to the sound of the cannon. Willow had only just been quick enough to prevent a panicked Ash from rolling off his bough and crashing down onto the forest floor. Evidently he hadn't spent as much of his youth in the treetops as she had, Willow thought with a small smile, a smile that faded abruptly when she realised that the cannon indicated somebody else had died. One of the careers, she wondered? Or another one of them, the outsiders?  
She allowed him to wake properly before she clambered down a few branches, wincing as her t-shirt snagged on the rough bark and caught the open cut on her belly once again. They needed to find water as soon as possible for they were both already starting to dehydrate, and her wound desperately needed cleaning.  
Axe in hand, Willow peered through the leafy canopy spread out below her, trying to ascertain if it was okay to leave their roost. She rested there for a minute, five minutes, then ten before she decided it was safe to leap lightly the remainder of the way to the soft ground. The material scraped at her stomach again, and she sucked in a sharp breath that she couldn't control.  
She crouched there several moments longer, feeling distinctly like a sitting duck, before finally accepting it was time to call Ash down. He dropped beside her almost silently, bow and arrows slung over his body, ever cautious.  
"Okay," he said quietly. "Do we continue the search for water first, or check the snares?"  
"Water," she replied. "If anyone found the traps, they'll be waiting there, expecting whoever it is to return at dawn... If they're made to wait, maybe they'll assume whoever just died was the one who set them up, and they'll leave."  
It made sense, Ash decided. He could really use some fluids now. His head was starting to ache in earnest, and his tongue and throat were starting to feel almost swollen such was their desire for a drink.  
"Which way?"  
Something was telling Willow to carry on, straight ahead, along the same route they'd been taking the previous day, and for now, Ash was prepared to follow her hunch.  
"A couple of hours at the most though," he added, as he agreed. "If we don't find any, we spread out."  
"Deal."  
"How're you feeling?" He indicated her injury.  
"Like it needs cleaning," she replied seriously.  
He nodded. She was in pain, and working with axes their entire lives, having the daily risk of losing limbs, they knew the onset of infection when they saw and felt it.  
"Let's go."  
They proceeded cautiously, but swiftly over the forest floor, senses always alert for hidden perils. There might be different dangers here, ones that had been genetically enhanced, in order to kill them in the most brutal way possible, but in the woods, within acres and acres of trees, District 7 undoubtedly held the advantage. Half the children had even been born in the forest, it had been their playground, but they had learned how to survive its harshness too, competed with birds for berries, squirrels for nuts, broken bones by falling from trees as they learned to climb them, always wanting to be the one who could scale the highest, learned how to use the tools of their trade before they even started school. And those tools had now become their weapons.  
Willow heard the trickling before Ash did and, not wanting to get his hopes up, said nothing, choosing to simply lead him in the general direction of the sound, but as it got more distinct, his ears pricked up too and he gave an excited gasp.  
"Is that what I think it is?"  
"I think so," she answered. "If it is, I hope it's clean."  
They found the source of the noise a few minutes later; a small pool, water trickling gently down over the rocks above it, and although he remembered to approach the mere with caution, Ash went to immerse his face straight in when they arrived at it, until Willow grabbed his arm and pulled him back.  
"No! There must be a way we can test it."  
"Willow, we've got nothing..."  
Willow remained silent for a moment, her mind working furiously. Think, Willow!  
"The snares! If we've caught something and it's still alive, we can give it water from here, wait a while, and if it's okay, then we can drink."  
They both knew the plan wasn't foolproof, but with no iodine, no water bottles and no other option, it was the best idea they could come up with, so they covered their tracks as best as they could, and retraced their steps carefully to the tree where they had spent the night, paused there for a few minutes to check they were being followed and then proceeded hesitantly back in the direction of the snares they had set the previous day.  
When they reached the area in which they had laid the traps, it seemed undisturbed, but a scuffling in one of the bushes sent them immediately back to back, axe and bow poised to attack, but nothing appeared, so they crept up to the shrub and peered behind it, into it, and were rewarded with a pair of wide dark eyes staring at them.  
A rabbit.  
It didn't look like a mutt. In fact it looked like exactly what it was, a common bunny.  
"Well, are we pleased to see you," Willow whispered softly, reaching in to grab the herbivore by the scruff of the neck, then severing the crude grass rope she had fashioned to make the snare with the axe. Sensing a chance of freedom, the rabbit tried to bound away but the tribute held it tight, cradling it against her as they checked their other traps. All sadly empty, but one animal was enough for their current needs.  
Being careful all the way, they backtracked to the pool, tethered the rabbit again and collected some water in a large rock that had a deep, convenient dip in its centre, and set it beside the rabbit. It took it a while but eventually the creature drank, and then Willow and Ash could do little but wait.  
"How long do we give it?" Ash asked.  
His counterpart shrugged. "Maybe an hour?"  
They whiled away the time taking turns to gather sticks that they could use to make a fire, making sure to find the dryest twigs they could, trying to use the dead stuff caught in the lower branches of the surrounding trees, one searching whilst the other kept watch.  
When they judged an hour to have passed, they went back to the rabbit and took a long, hard long at it. It still seemed okay, certainly it skittered about as it had done before, its eyes looked clear, its nose damp.  
"Okay?"  
"Let's go for it."  
They filled the rock bowl with water, taking it in turns to sip mouthfuls of the slightly warm liquid, forcing themselves to go slowly, drinking at least five bowlfuls each over the course of the next hour. Neither of them had had anything to drink for a full day by that point, and they both lamented the fact they had no water containers to allow them to travel further afield.  
Willow used a handful of moss dunked into the pool to sponge the blood from the open wound. Much of it had clotted and congealed, but it was still weeping at the lower end, the discharge a little cloudy. It was infected. Willow said nothing to Ash though, she'd tell him when it started to slow her down.  
Once they had drunk their fill, Ash dispatched the rabbit, and slung the carcass over his shoulder, bow in one hand, bundle of sticks in the other, and Willow gathered up her axe and their makeshift drinking vessel - it was primitive but undeniably it did the job they needed it to do so they were loathe to leave it behind - and they set off deeper into the woods, stopping about an hour further on. Ash got the messy but necessary job of skinning and dissecting the rabbit, which, they discovered, was no easy task with only an axe as a cutting implement. He did it with no complaints, though, whilst Willow built up and started a fire. It took a good while, Ash had completed his task long before she did, but they ended up with a blaze decent enough to cook chunks of rabbit on sticks over.  
They cooked it all, knowing it would last longer that way, and wrapped each chunk in a separate leaf so they could carry them in their pockets, dividing it equally between them, and when they were finished, they kicked dirt over the fire, concealing the embers, and then headed back the way they had come, reluctant to leave their half-mile domain because they knew it contained water, food and somewhere relatively safe to sleep.  
They added to their collection of snares, covering a wider area the second time around, and then spent the remainder of the day scouring the bushes for berries and the forest floor for edible plants, checking every one, every leaf over carefully before adding it to their collection. Willow even managed to find some wild garlic bulbs and, with the aid of another chunk of rabbit meat, ate one raw, knowing it might possibly help with her spreading infection.  
And it was spreading. As late afternoon fell, she could feel it beginning to take hold of her body; she started to quiver, and even though she'd eaten and taken fluids, she was paler than Ash had ever seen her.  
"It's starting, isn't it?" he asked, and there was an undeniable edge of fear in his voice.  
He managed to convince Willow to walk back to the pool and take another two cups of water, and then he coaxed her up the tree they'd slept in the previous night by firmly informing her that if she was staying on the ground then so was he. The maternal instincts within her had kicked in, and she allowed him to half-push and half-drag her into the safety of the thick branches above, still lucid enough to remember that, despite her promise to Caesar, if she died, Ash winning would be best for their district. And more than that, he deserved it. He'd proved himself more than resourceful, and if he could remain where he was and out of the path of the careers, she knew he had a chance of survival. She remembered thinking that she should ask him to give her lover a message if he made it out, but she didn't know whether she did or not before she fell into an uneasy sleep.

She was burning up with fever, Caesar could see that as soon as the camera rested on her the next morning. She was unnaturally white, her skin almost translucent, sweat beading on her upper lip, and he felt his throat begin to close up when he heard her moan.  
He had spent another sleepless night in the studio, knowing infection was taking hold of her body, and by lunchtime, he couldn't stand it anymore. She was sick, vulnerable and although he couldn't sponsor her himself, and nobody else yet seemed willing, he knew somebody he could ask for help, so as soon as he signed off air, he headed straight for the Capitol's most prestigious betting establishment, easily spotting the cerise wig of the woman he needed to talk to.  
"Theodora?"  
"Caesar!" She kissed both his cheeks twice. "Darling, your ears must have been burning, we were just talking about you!"  
"Only good things, I trust?"  
"Of course!" She chuckled. "Honoria was just saying what lovely thing you did, dancing with that girl on interview night. What was her name, again?"  
"Willow. Her name's Willow," he replied, desperately trying not to say it through gritted teeth, knowing he had to play things so very carefully around these people, that he had to be always aware that they were the creme de la creme of Panemian society, people who dined regularly with the President himself.  
He chatted amicably for several minutes, making the little group chuckle with witty anecdotes, and then somebody new came along to capture their interest, and he caught the pink-haired woman gently by the arm before he lost her attention too, and indicated to a side room with a nod of his head.  
She regarded him shrewdly but allowed him to guide her away from her friends and into one of the private rooms reserved for VIP patrons.  
"What brings you here?" she asked without preamble.  
"I need a favour."  
"Go on?"  
"I want to send a gift to someone in the arena, but I obviously can't do it myself, so I wondered if you could - "  
" - Persuade Guyis to do it for you?" she finished.  
"Yeah."  
"Which tribute?"  
Caesar knew he had to tell her, otherwise there could be no gift, but the idea of revealing his feelings for Willow to someone who would probably not understand in the slightest caused the words to stick when he tried to say them out loud.  
"Who, Caesar?" she repeated when he didn't answer.  
"The girl," he got out. "Willow."  
He was biting his lip, his nervousness blatantly obvious under her knowing stare. There was more to his request than he was telling her, Theodora knew that, and so she prodded him for more details.  
"Why her? Are you feeling sorry for her? It's not a good idea to fall into sending someone gifts just because you feel sorry for them, Caesar... It's very unlikely she'd be able to win, even if she did survive this infection. I mean, look at her opposition..."  
"I think she can win it," he said shortly.  
"How? What on earth has she got going for her?"  
"She's quick, she's found food, water, somewhere safe to sleep. Was the first to work out how to kill the mutts..."  
"I don't know, Caesar, she still seems an awfully big gamble to take..."  
"I'll give you the money," he pleaded, just stopping short of falling to his knees. "Please just sponsor her, send her the medicine she needs."  
"Why are you so sure she'll be the one to make it?"  
Caesar gazed at Theodora with a mixture of misery and appeal in his eyes, looked at her for a long, long time, completely silent.  
_Can I trust her? Truly trust her,_ he wondered. _You don't really have much choice_, a little voice replied.  
"Because she promised me she'd come home," he whispered, so quietly that she almost missed what he said.  
"She... promised... you?"  
Caesar nodded slowly, head bowed low now, eyes closed, his week-old secret almost revealed.  
"Why would she promise you tha- " she trailed off as realisation hit, and sank on to a soft chair. "Oh, Caesar... No... A tribute? She can't be more than seventeen!"  
"She's not just some girl!" He burst out. "I love her." He paused. "And she turned eighteen yesterday," he finished, just to clarify. "She didn't say anything to anyone because she knows that can bring on birthday 'treats'."  
Theodora lowered her head, thinking back to when they were children, and how determined Caesar had been even then. She might not see her brother much nowadays, not very often at all in recent years, as it happened, ever since the Julius-becoming-an-avox incident, but she knew him well enough to know that he believed exactly what he was saying, that he believed he was serious about this girl.  
_Could she persuade her husband to sponsor an outsider, one who was already injured, no less?_  
She looked up again, watching the anxiety in Caesar's face, and understanding that, whether it was love or something else, he truly did care for the District 7 tribute.  
"Willow?" she confirmed after another lengthy pause.  
Caesar nodded carefully, a flicker of hope making his eyes sparkle once again.  
"I'll see what I can do."


	17. The Final Eight

She was hot, far too hot. Ash didn't know very much about fevers or infections, but he'd gleaned enough information over the past couple of years lumberjacking to know that Willow wasn't going to last much longer without medicine. She was alternately dripping with sweat and trembling as though she were cold, when in reality she was burning up, her lips dry, cracked, and she moaned softly everytime she moved.  
He finally understood this was no time for modesty when he caught the unmistakable scent of dying flesh, and when he risked pulling up her t-shirt to see exactly what he was dealing with, he almost lost his afternoon meal.  
Around the wound, her belly was swollen, pus was pooling along it, mixing with congealed blood, and he knew that if he wanted to save her, he had to risk going back to the Cornucopia to see if there was any medicine stashed there that might help her.  
He could just leave her here, he thought. Her end was near, one less player to worry about, but even as he thought it, he dismissed the idea, horrified at what these Games were already doing to him. Leave her here to die? Even if he were physically and emotionally able to go against every natural instinct he had and desert her, life wouldn't be worth living if he made it home to 7. There were no rules in The Hunger Games, tributes were expected to do whatever it took to survive, but leaving your district counterpart to die without trying to help them was right up there with cannibalism - you just didn't do it. It didn't sit well with those in the Capitol, whom you were generally relying on to keep you alive by the end of the Games, and it sat even less well with the people back home - being reaped for the Games was a chance to not only win glory for yourself, it was an opportunity to support your district, and there was more chance of that happening with two of you. Therefore you were expected to try and keep your partner alive as long as possible.  
By the time darkness began to descend over the arena, Ash had given up trying to prevent Willow from rolling off her branch from his own. He'd moved up to hers, and was holding her still, making comforting noises whenever she moaned in her delirium, but still cupping his hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She was no longer lucid, sporadically murmuring comments about her parents, about how she hated that cat, saying that she was so sorry she didn't make it home, that she was sorry she was going to break the only promise she had made...  
_First light_, he told himself. _If she was still alive then, he would head back to the Cornucopia._  
The silver parachute floated down right before the Capitol seal lit up the night sky and the anthem of Panem echoed around the arena. Ash would have missed it completely had it not have been for the sweet tinkling it made as it landed on the bough above his head. He took the risk of loosening his hold on Willow for a moment to retrieve the small pot attached to the chute, and twisted off the lid as soon as he sat back down. Tacked to the inside was a card that read: 'Clean wound and apply. Use it all. Take both tablets.' Secured to the card were two simple white pills. The tub contained a thick, tacky substance that stretched between his fingers, and Ash knew by the smell that it was medicine. It was nothing like the herbal remedies they used back in the district; this was a Capitol concoction, researched thoroughly and made in one of the huge underground laboratories, fast acting and almost always fully effective.  
The tribute wedged a groaning Willow tight into the fork of the tree, and nearly forgot to scour the ground below such was his haste to get a handful of damp moss to clean his partner's wound, but he thankfully did remember just in time.  
He made it to the pool and back in record time, a clump of moss clutched in his hand, clambered back up to her, somehow managed to rouse her long enough to force the pills down her throat with a trickle of water from the wringing moss, and set about sponging the cut as clean as he could possibly get it. He ripped the moss in half, using one lot to wash away the pus and the other to wipe away the dried blood, and then he scooped the ointment from the container, plastering the entire lot over the cut on her abdomen. Knowing her top was covering in infected matter, he left it rolled up, her stomach exposed to the elements, but nevertheless clean and hopefully already on its way to healing.  
Willow had stopped whimpering, that was for certain, and she was no longer wriggling around either. The effect of the medicine had been instantaneous, and the boy found himself trembling as the adrenaline suddenly wore off, terrified that he'd nearly lost his district partner, but delighted that he'd managed to remain calm in the crisis that had loomed over them. He'd done okay for those few hours on his own, but he was already looking forward to regaining her companionship.  
He wrapped his arms back round her, partly to keep her from rolling out of the tree, but mostly to ensure she stayed as warm as possible - there was no point in saving her from infection only to have her die of hypothermia instead, he reasoned, and the last thing he did before he, too, dropped off to sleep, was to whisper a grateful, "Thankyou" at the sky.

Caesar slept that night, just for a few hours, and upon waking, it took him a moment to work out exactly where he was and what he was doing there. _The studio? The Games! Willow!_  
He shot towards the television screen for the third morning in a row. Day 4, and the list of survivors was no different to the previous one. Willow had made it through the night.  
_Caesar had left Theodora to get to work on Guyis as soon as she'd agreed to help him the day before. He knew his sister hadn't been convinced by his declaration of love for the tribute, but she'd clearly seen something in his eyes that she was prepared to assist him in his mission to save Willow. He knew she'd have done it herself, but being an ex-escort, she, like him, was not permitted to become a sponsor.  
Guyis had taken some persuasion. The Master of Ceremonies had watched from a distance as Theodora had sashayed up to her husband, perched on the arm of his chair and had shooed away those claiming his attention. She'd then proceeded to subtly flirt with him, point out everything positive that Willow had achieved in spite of her injury, and Caesar had actually sighed out loud with relief and gratitude when he finally watched his brother-in-law nod his head in assent.  
He sought out Delta immediately, directing her towards the lady with the cerise hair, not telling her the woman was actually his sister, informing the mentor that he'd overheard the couple discussing possible sponsorship for Willow because she'd shown remarkably good survival skills before the infection had taken hold.  
Delta hotfooted it over to them, but by the time she'd returned to tell Caesar the good news, he'd disappeared from the betting house and had appeared on the screen before them, a spark of optimism in his eyes that only those who knew him well would have been able to see had been missing for the past few days._  
Willow was awake when the cameras in the studio clicked on, and from the little conversation between her and Ash that Caesar could pick up, she was as alert as could be expected after such a draining infection, she seemed rational, and was eagerly sipping water from the heavy makeshift bowl.  
He couldn't hold in a grin of relief even though they were already filming. He'd been praying for nothing more than a sign of improvement, so the comforting scene before him absolutely surpassed his wildest hopes. Willow was clearly more physically robust than she looked.

The arena was quiet that day. Ash ventured down to check the snares they had set, but there was nothing, and so he stopped by the pool to collect more water and harvest some more berries and maple bark. They shared out the remaining chunks of rabbit from Willow's pockets. He tried to insist it was hers, but she knew, at that moment in time, she was relying on him to fend for them both so she made him take it to keep his strength up, and Ash couldn't deny the mouthful of meat definitely made the bark infinitely easier to swallow.  
"We'll go hunting tomorrow," she decided. "And foraging."  
Despite the lingering pain of her wound and the grumblings of hunger, Willow didn't feel too bad now there was a little food in her belly. Being back in the forest after a week of being confined to the Capitol - no matter how interesting it had been - was truly invigorating. The fresh air, the smell of the trees, reminded her of home, and for the first time since she'd been in the arena she allowed herself to imagine being back in District 7. And from there, her thoughts went straight to Caesar, the only other thing that, up until this moment, she had not permitted to enter her mind.  
How was he faring, she wondered? Had he managed to keep their relationship hidden?  
_"He'll have forgotten all about you within a week if the accounts I've heard are anything to go by..."_  
Without warning, Jewel's voice rang out so clearly that Willow was sure the District 1 tribute was standing below the tree staring right up at her, and she clutched at Ash for a second.  
"You alright?" he said quickly.  
Willow shook her head as though to clear it, and muttered:  
"Yeah. I thought I heard someone... It's okay, though, it was just my imagination playing tricks on me."  
"Sure?"  
She nodded, and, eyes wide, flattened herself back against his chest as the boom of a cannon rang out around the arena, and the birds surrounding them fell silent. There was a sudden whirring, and then they were just able to spy a hovercraft through the tightly knitted canopy of leaves and branches above them, maybe a quarter of a mile to their left, almost directly over the area where they had set up their snares.  
"Can you see who it is?" Ash whispered, as the metal grabber descended swiftly towards the ground, spent a moment there and rose up slowly.  
"It's a boy, not Pitch," came the reply. "I guess we'll see tonight."  
The pair fell silent after that, very aware that their general location had just been broadcast to anyone within visual range of the aircraft, and they remained quiet as darkness descended, murmuring infrequently to one another to try and keep their spirits up.

Caesar got the call within minutes of Mace's death. They were down to the final eight contestants so he was off to the districts to interview the families and friends of those remaining. With six districts still actively involved in the Games, it would be a three day trip; overnight travel by hovercraft, starting in District 4, then onto 11 and 2 the first day, 8 and 7 the following day, and then 1 and back to the Capitol by end of play on the third.  
Invariably though, at least one of the interviews would never be shown because, invariably, someone always died during the time he was gone. He just prayed it wouldn't be Willow this year.  
His style team was prepared to leave by the time Caesar stepped out of the studio, and the aircraft was hovering patiently, waiting for them, above the broadcast centre, its ladder wafting gently in the breeze.  
He let the prep team and Venetia board first, and just as he was about to take hold of the ladder that would lift him inside, someone grabbed at his arm.  
"Delta!"  
"When you get to Willow's, keep a look out for a cat, a tabby. Vinnie said she was worrying about it not having enough to eat."  
The cat was news to him, but Caesar promised he'd try and find it, and make sure it was kept safe and well fed. And as the Master of Ceremonies took hold of the ladder that froze him instantly in place, the mentor nodded her thanks breathlessly, finding she was no longer as fit as she'd assumed she was after her dash from the training centre to Caesar's place of work to beg him to find the tabby. If she was honest, she'd expected some resistance from him over it, but he had agreed without even giving it a second thought - so far he was clearly holding fast on his vow to Willow!  
The journey to District 4 would take most of the night. It was the most southern region in Panem, the country's fishing capital, and Tyne's birthplace. Arrangements had already been made for Caesar to meet the tribute's family and friends in the town centre. 4 was a fairly regular stop on the final eight competitors front. Along with the tributes from Districts 1 and 2, 4 usually made up the career pack, and this year had been no exception. Although his counterpart had died during the bloodbath on the first day, Tyne had stuck with Bourne, Jewel, Ava and, until he'd met his end, Mace.  
Tyne hadn't been a particularly friendly young man, Caesar recalled from the two interviews they'd done together, but no matter, he could still be polite to the boy's family. He spent the entire flight reading up on who he would be interviewing and watching the career pack as they hunted through the night.  
_Stay in the tree, you two_, he thought as he dropped off to sleep in his chair.

Willow had been adamant that she was healing well enough to accompany Ash to check the snares, and he was equally insistent that she remain hidden up in the tree. They'd reached a bit of a stalemate when Ash finally conceeded that maybe she could venture as far as the blackberry bush and pluck the last of the fruit from it. They both knew that their time in the relative safety of their little piece of forest was coming to an end, and they agreed that they'd rather leave on their own terms than be forced out by something not within their control, so they decided that this would be the last day and night they spent there. They would check the traps, and dismantle them, cook any game they managed to catch, strip the thicket of its blackberries, gather enough bark to sustain them for a couple of days, and drink as much water as they could physically hold, and then leave before first light the next morning.  
They knew, too, that their temporary alliance would soon be over. Mace's death had taken them down to eight contenders, and neither of Willow not Ash wanted it to come down to the two of them fighting it out for the victor's crown. Over the past two weeks they had become more than allies. They were friends. Two people who had watched out for each other, who had saved one another's lives more than once. For now though, they left the words unspoken as Ash made Willow swear that if they heard a cannon, they were not to go searching for the other, that they would make their way directly back to their tree and remain there until the death pictures were shown in the night sky. If the other was shown, they would then proceed with the plan they had made alone, if not they would wait an extra day to give the party who wasn't present time to get back.  
They made a pact, shook on it, the warm, firm clench of their hands saying all the goodbyes their mouths didn't want to give up, just in case the worst happened.  
"Go see my parents?" he asked, "If you make it home."  
She nodded, her throat tight.  
"And you... Tell him that I love him, and that I'm sorry I didn't come home," Willow whispered, hoping her voice was low enough that the cameras couldn't pick it up.  
She met Ash's gaze and knew that he understood to whom she was referring.  
"I will," he promised.  
It was a highly charged conversation for saying they were only going to be twenty minutes apart, but Willow knew their farewell wasn't simply for this moment, it was for the days to come, when maybe they wouldn't be able to take their time over it, it was for the moment in which one would lose the other.  
They said nothing more after that, Ash slung his sheath of arrows and the bow over his shoulder, checked his pockets for the meagre supplies they had shared out, and dropped silently onto the forest floor. When Willow followed, a few moments later, axe in one hand, the rock bowl in the other, he was already lost to view, and she hurried away towards the pool and the blackberry bush, hoping for a decent haul of fruit to send them on their way the next day.  
After just a few minutes of walking, it was apparent that although the pills and the ointment from the Capitol had cleared up her infection and her fever, she was still a long way from recovered, but she pushed on, determined to do something to help them on their way at dawn.  
The bush was almost stripped bare of berries when the echo of a cannon boom sent Willow bolting back to the tree, and scrambling up it, mentally cursing herself for leaving the rock bowl by the shallow pond.  
She had expected Ash to be hot on her heels, but when several minutes passed and there was still no sign of him, she felt her racing heart start to sink low in her chest, and when she saw the location of the hovercraft and its giant metal claw descending, she knew that the cannon shot had been for him.  
She retained a little spark of hope though, until the anthem of Panem began to fanfare through the silence and the Capitol seal lit up the sky, and she cried when she saw his handsome young face grinning at her against the blackness of the night.  
How could he be dead? He had been so cautious when it came to moving around the forest, who had managed to find him?  
Willow moved higher up the tree, thinking the further up she went, the easier it would be to hide from the events of the day. It was an illusion, of course, because wherever she went in the arena, she would be on camera, but the sharp solitude of the cold night gave her the determination to suck up her pain, at least for now.

She was back on her normal branch when she heard the voices far below her the next morning, just before dawn, their cocky tones easily recognisable even if there hadn't been four of them. The careers pack, out on the prowl for unsuspecting victims.  
"I still can't believe he wouldn't give her up! Ava, you should've cut deeper before you killed him, maybe then he'd have told us!" Jewel's tone was angry.  
Willow felt her blood run cold. They were talking about Ash, it was clear, and so Willow knew the 'her' had to be herself. The careers were hunting her down for Jewel to kill.  
Still, in that instant, she learned three things: One was that they didn't have any idea where she was. Two was that, despite her anguish, she clearly had no intention of giving up on the idea of going home. And third, and most importantly, she knew now whose hand had killed Ash. And for the first time since entering the arena, Willow started planning offensively as opposed to defensively. She would hunt this Ava down, and the District 2 girl would be the first to die at her hand. If the careers wanted a piece of her, they could have it, but Willow was going home. For herself, and for Ash.


	18. District 7

Caesar was just finishing his interview with Tyne's mother when the cannon echoed, and he shot from the kitchen to the lounge even quicker than the woman did herself.  
They stood in front of the television, side by side, frantically scanning the list of survivors, and exhaled at the same moment when they both saw their loved one's name was still on it. Tyne's mother's expression was one of relief, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, unconcerned about the death of any contender who wasn't her son. Caesar, though, felt tears prick at his eyelids when he saw the metal claw drop down from the hovercraft and gently scoop up the bloodied body.  
Ash Rogers.  
As soon as the hovercraft had disappeared from view, the screen cut back to the moment Ash had been captured by the careers. He'd done everything right, walked silently, approached his destination cautiously, always an eye and an ear on his surroundings, and it had been a meeting completely of chance. The pack had been upon him before he'd had time to scramble up into one of the nearby trees. He'd tried, of course, but they'd been quick enough to grab him and haul him back down.  
They'd then demanded to know where Willow was hiding and, when he refused to give up her location, they proceeded to punch and kick at him. Ash was a stocky lad, even though he'd been living on less food than normal for several days, but he was no match for four well-fed, well-rested careers, all of whom were at least two years older than himself, and he was black and blue within minutes. Then the District 2 girl pulled out her knife.  
The tributes from 1 held Ash down as Ava slashed slowly at his arms, gently at first, just slicing the first layer of skin, but at every refusal to divulge Willow's whereabouts, the blade cut deeper. It was tortuous to even watch, and how Ash had bourne it without so much as whimpering Caesar would never know.  
Ava's knife stabbed downwards again, right through Ash's arm, and Jewel screamed at him to tell them where Willow was.  
And, in spite of his agony, despite the fact that his features were contorted with pain, the boy laughed right in her face.  
"Like hell!" he coughed. "You're gonna kill me anyway so why would I tell you where she is?"  
Bourne's giant fist smashed into his nose.  
"She'll win this, y'know," Ash grinned, when he'd finished choking up blood.  
Ava's knife jammed down into his heart, and the cannon rang out.  
Ash's last gesture on earth had been an attempt to keep his district partner safe, and it was a debt Caesar would never be able to repay.  
He thanked Tyne's mother for her time, wished her the best, and managed to hold the tears in until he was back on board the hovercraft. And then they simply poured out of him as he sat watching the television for the entire flight to District 11.  
Willow knew, he could tell she knew that the cannon had been for Ash, but a little glimmer of hope was still there throughout the day, right up until she saw his picture beaming down at her from the sky.  
Caesar was a little subdued with Pitch's family and friends, and he barely managed to keep his tongue in check when Ava's father greeted him like an old acquaintance, desperately wanting to ask where the girl had learnt to do such horrific things, but he reined himself in enough to be polite, and he was so thankful when the first day of the interviews came to an end.  
He was quiet over dinner, listening to the mundane comments of his prep team talking with Venetia, wondering, without saying anything, if this was effecting them as badly as it was him, or if it was just another Hunger Games as far as they were concerned.  
The stylist caught him before he headed off to bed, drawing him aside and asking him if he was okay.  
"It wasn't her, Caesar, and if you want her to come home, the boy had to die at some point..."  
Caesar's head dropped.  
"I know, I just wish they hadn't done such awful things to him first... Why did they have to do that, huh? He was just a child."  
"They all are."  
"Not like he was though... Barely fourteen..."  
He was still shaking his head as he left Venetia, his sorrow for Ash's death more intense than he could have ever imagined. And it wasn't only because he had seen Willow's sorrow over it, but because now he understood the terror of someone you loved being involved in the Hunger Games; because if his own fear for Willow was even one iota as great as Ash's parents' had been for their son, Caesar wanted nothing more to do with it. He wanted out. As soon as these Games were over, he would hand in his resignation. His fifteenth year of Master of Ceremonies would be his last.

Caesar spent the following morning in District 8 interviewing Toby's relatives, all of whom described him as a gentle giant. And it was probably true, Caesar thought. Although he stood at almost two metres tall, the tribute hadn't made so much as a single kill aside from his mutt, and he had even seemed reluctant to do that. In fact, thinking about the hours and hours of footage he'd commentated on, Caesar scarcely remembered even seeing Toby at all.  
He enjoyed his time in 8. Everyone had been so welcoming, and Caesar couldn't help but wonder if it was because they were all so thrilled that one of their tributes had made it so far into the tournament. Like District 12, 8 had an incredibly high mortality rate when it came to The Hunger Games.  
"7, here we come!" Venetia announced as they sat down to lunch upon boarding the hovercraft once again, and she was delighted to see Caesar appeared to be eating normally today.  
"Hmm," he said, swallowing a chunk of lamb. "Vee, I, er, I want to go and do the preliminary meetings myself on this ocassion, if you don't mind?"  
The stylist studied him thoughtfully for several moments before she consented. She figured she knew why he wanted to go himself: He wanted to use all the time he had in 7 to learn as much about Willow Monroe as he possibly could. He wanted to meet her friends, see where she worked, where she lived. Find the cat she had been feeding, and make sure it was looked after.  
Truth be told, Caesar did want to do all those things, and more besides. He wanted to see the rose bush that was now famous across Panem, he wanted to walk where Willow had danced, but most of all, he wanted time alone to go and visit Ash's parents. To tell them he was sorry for their loss, to tell them he would always be in their debt because of their son's sacrifice. He would never be able to repay the boy himself, but Caesar swore to himself that he would help them in any way he could, no matter what.  
It was a mixed crowd that greeted Caesar when they touched down in 7. The air in the district centre was one of sombre exhilaration. Sadness tinged with hope. Only once before had he been in a tribute's district within twenty-four hours of their death, and although that had been an incredibly difficult experience, the Master of Ceremonies knew this visit was going to be far more poignant.  
Although Venetia usually travelled alone for the preliminary meetings, due to past incidences, two uniform-clad peacekeepers had been assigned to escort and direct Caesar around 7. The head peacekeeper of the district had been insistent, and the Master of Ceremonies hadn't felt he could object too strongly to their presence. He did, however, state very firmly his intentions to visit Mr and Mrs Rogers, and that he wished to have a certain amount of solitude to wander around the district before starting the interviews. The peacekeeper attempted to challenge Caesar's decision but he held firm, and eventually the commander reluctantly relented and sent them on their way.  
Ash's family lived on the very edge of the town, right beside the first forest, in a small but well turned out house that was surrounded by chickens, and Caesar stood at the end of their front path for several minutes, simply gazing into the woods.  
Was that where Willow had learnt to climb trees the way she did, he wondered? Had she worked in those woods? Was that where her parents had died?  
Caesar inhaled and sighed heavily before he lifted his chin and strode up the dusty walkway, hesitating twice before his knuckles finally dared to rap on the door. He was no coward but he genuinely didn't have the faintest idea as to what sort of reception he was going to get, so, at that moment, he was mildly grateful for the two peacekeepers' proximity.  
There was a long pause, muffled voices, a key being turned in a lock, a bolt being drawn back, and then two faded green eyes were staring out at him from a face made hollow by grief. Ash's mother; she who had not been able to hold in a shriek of terror when her son's name had been pulled from the glass bowl at the reaping.  
Her initial curiosity flared into anger the moment she realised who was stood on her doorstep, and her gaze narrowed ominously.  
Up until two weeks ago, Molly Rogers had never had particularly negative thoughts about those from the Capitol, she was the kind of woman who would have liked a little more food, a slightly bigger home, but who was, all in all, happy with her lot. Since reaping day, though, anger at the Capitol, and anything that reminded her of it, had flared up brightly within her, and seeing Caesar Flickerman waiting at her door, with his blue hair, sparkling grey suit and dazzling white smile, sent her into a fit of unchecked rage.  
"You're not needed here anymore, Mr Flickerman, or did you not watch the Games yesterday?"  
"Mrs Rogers, I simply wanted to offer my condolences. Your son was a truly inspiring young man."  
Molly eyeballed Caesar in disgust, clearly under the impression that the Master of Ceremonies was there because the State dictated it, not because he was sincerely moved by the family's tragic loss, and she began to yell at him, bringing her husband running to door and sending the pair of peacekeepers hurtling towards Caesar, who flapped them away with a curt flick of his hand.  
Upon seeing the peacekeepers standing by, Mr Rogers tried to pull his wife back into the house, to quieten her, but now she had started, Molly couldn't rein in her tirade, and Caesar stood mutely, watching her, feeling her pain, her anger, soaking into him, and when she'd finally worn herself out, sobbing, her throat dry, she made to slam the door in his face. Caesar got hold of it, preventing her from closing it, and the gesture caused Ash's father to step aggressively forward, trying to force it closed.  
"Mr Rogers, please..."  
Trent Rogers must have heard some kind of desperation in Caesar's voice because he stopped pushing against the door, and took a good hard look at the presenter. Possibly he saw the palour beneath the fake tan, the shadows under his eyes that the makeup hadn't quite been able to conceal, and recognised it as fear or sadness, but whatever the reason, he hesitantly pulled the door open wide and beckoned Caesar into the house.  
Molly opened her mouth to cry out at her husband but he silenced her with a single look, and she stormed away, still weeping violently.  
"Why are you here?" Trent's voice was dull as he led Caesar into the kitchen-come-seating area, and turned to stare at him questioningly.  
The words Caesar had planned to say, the explanations he had wanted to give, they all dried up as he gazed sadly at Ash's father. What had he come here to say? That he was grateful Ash had died trying to protect Willow? That he would never be able to thank the boy enough for taking that beating, those stabbings from the District 2 girl's knife?  
"I don't know," Caesar said honestly, and for the first time in his life, he was utterly at a loss. This wasn't a show that could be edited and cropped and reshot if it didn't work right the first time. This was real life, their reality, and Caesar shouldn't be a part of it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," he said, his eyes closed, "Apologise to your wife for me, would you? I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your loss."  
And he went to hurry away, to escape the grief of their household, but Trent caught him by the arm, and, voice trembling, shouted:  
"No! You came here for a reason. Not because the Capitol told you you had to come and pretend to be sorry that our son is dead, but because you had something to say. So say it!"  
And so Caesar did.  
He told Trent everything. How Willow had caught his eye at the reaping, how she had entranced him at the tribute parade, their dance, the kiss, the rose. All the details those who had only watched the show hadn't seen. His visits to the Training Centre, the token... Willow's promise to come home...  
"He could have given her up, so they'd stop what they were doing to him, but he saved her. Your son saved her, and I'm never going to be able to repay him," Caesar choked out.  
Trent remained wordless for a long, long time, thoughts ricocheting around his head.  
Did he hate Willow Monroe now, for being alive whilst Ash was gone, he wondered?  
No, Trent didn't believe he did. He was angry, for sure, but he was angry at the Capitol for taking Ash away. As soon as the careers had gotten hold of Ash, he was as good as dead anyway. All the father felt was a sudden burst of pride that his boy, his beloved son, had been brave enough to take everything the career pack had thrown at him, and had died protecting his district partner's life. Because he had known that, aside from himself, only Willow winning The Hunger Games could benefit his family.  
And the great Caesar Flickerman, darling of the Capitol, was stood in his kitchen sniffing back sobs, understanding their terror, devastated that he would never be able to repay Ash for his sacrifice. That idea alone was completely overwhelming as far as Trent was concerned. The thought that someone from the Capitol wasn't as shallow as he had imagined them all to be absolutely blew Trent's mind, but at the same time, he understood. About owing something that could never be repaid. About having a debt that could never truly be settled.  
"If you ever need anything, if it's within my power, consider it done," Caesar finished, knowing whatever he did would never be enough.  
The two men clasped hands before Caesar left, a tight, unbreakable illustration of understanding and compassion for the other's plight.  
"I hope she wins," Trent said before he opened the door. "And if she does, don't you ever let her go."  
"I won't," Caesar vowed.

After their dismissal at the Rogers' residence, the peacekeepers were sullen as they escorted Caesar wherever he wanted to go. When they approached the town centre, the Master of Ceremonies plastered a smile back onto his face as he wandered around the factory where Willow had worked before the Games - regardless of the end result, she would not be returning there - and met her supervisor.  
Lane Collins was a swarthy young man of around twenty years old, with hair as black as coal and piercing blue eyes, the kind of guy who fairly oozed sensuality.  
"Yeah, Willow and I were very close for a time," he grinned, explaining nothing but implying everything with a lewd, lazy wink. Caesar's brilliant white beam didn't slip, not even once, but his eyes hardened and he felt jealousy spark up within him at the revelation. He seethed silently as he chatted with Willow's former co-workers, watching Lane talk with a wide-eyed girl of about Willow's age. The girl in question seemed a little upset, but was responding to the supervisor's subtle flirting with smiles that were growing ever brighter.  
Eventually, the woman Caesar was interviewing to - Pam, her name was - noticed his attention wasn't fully focused on her, and she followed his eye line, giving a wry smile when she saw him regarding Lane with interest.  
"They were together for a time, y'know?" she commented.  
"So he said," Caesar muttered, not taking his gaze of the supervisor, who was now tucking a loose strand of the girl's hair behind her ear.  
"I bet he did," Pam chuckled. "Since the reaping, he's been very vocal about his relationship - if you could call it that - with her..."  
Caesar's eyes flicked urgently back to the factory worker.  
"Were they dating then? At the time of the reaping?"  
Pam snorted with laughter. "Oh, no! She got his number a long time ago. He came onto her just after her parents passed away... I guess she was lonely, flattered by the attention, gave in to his persuasion. She walked in on him with some other girl a few months later. He tried to talk to her but she was having none of it, called him out over it. She's not daft, that one."  
Caesar's grin was completely genuine as he exchanged a knowing look with Pam.  
No, Willow wasn't daft, not in the slightest, and Caesar had no doubt that from the moment she'd found him with somebody else in his arms, Willow had seen straight through Lane's web of deceit, and had treated him with the contempt he deserved.  
Good for you, sweetheart, he thought, glaring at the supervisor's back once more, but there was little malice in it that time.  
"Do you know where Willow lives, Pam?"  
"Sure, she's right near me."  
"Could you show me?"  
"Yeah. Let me just go and check with Mr Collins."  
Caesar's eyes rested on Lane again as Pam trotted off towards the supervisor.  
The wide-eyed girl was now giggling ocassionally, her entire persona now brighter - it was impossible to not be impressed by the swiftness of Lane Collins' moves, Caesar thought, quickly understanding how Willow, newly bereaved and forced to live in the district community home away from her friends and everything she knew, had been taken in by this young man. He was already a master at exploiting the vulnerable.  
The supervisor dismissed Pam with a furtive glance at Caesar, followed by a brusque nod, annoyed at having been disturbed during his courting routine. Caesar dipped his head in thanks and goodbye, and he couldn't help but chuckle when Pam reached his side once more and told him Lane had granted her five minutes leave.  
"He's so deep in conversation, I doubt he'd notice if I were to take the rest of the day off!" she finished, wrinkling her nose at the crassness of knowing where Lane's conversation was leading.  
"Is he like that with all the girls here?"  
"Oh, it's not just here," Pam replied. "But no, not all girls. Just the ones who are insecure or miserable. The ones he can make feel good about themselves so they're grateful to him. Then he goes for it, and they usually fall at his feet."  
Caesar nodded but he said nothing more on the subject of Lane Collins, instead asking Pam about the tabby cat that Willow had kept fed for the past year or so. She told him the feline was still around, that she threw him scraps when she could, but that she couldn't always do it, and that her resolve to keep the creature alive just wasn't as strong as Willow's was.  
"Speak of the devil," she murmured, as they approached Willow's front door.  
Even to Caesar's untrained eye, the animal curled up on the step was living on borrowed time. It was thin, so skinny that they could easily count its ribs, its fur rank and covered in mud, and from the awkward way it was sitting, it was clear that one of his legs had given out at some point.  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Caesar muttered to himself, causing Pam to look at him curiously.  
"Doing what?"  
"I promised I'd look for the cat," he explained. "And even though I think it would probably be kinder to have it put to sleep, I don't think I could actually go back and tell her that's what I've done."  
"You promised Willow you'd look for the cat?" Pam asked incredulously.  
"Not precisely. I promised her stylist I'd keep my eye out for it because Willow was worried about it."  
Pam's eyebrows raised of their own accord, and for a second he wondered if she was going to ask him why he was so concerned about what Willow wanted, but she remained silent, appraising him with sideways glances whilst he considered ways to apprehend the cat.  
Between them, Caesar and Pam managed to catch hold of the tabby, and the Master of Ceremonies grasped the spitting ball of mangy fur by the scruff of its neck, holding it at arm's length as it hissed at him, wriggling and clawing to get free.  
"You need anything else from me?" Pam asked.  
"Not for now, thanks, Pam," Caesar said. "I'll be back at the factory again in an hour or so with the camera crew, so if Lane can drag himself away from his latest friend by then, that'd be great..."  
He trailed off, and the two shared another grin as Pam turned to wander back towards the factory.  
"Y'know, I didn't think I'd like you, but you're alright, Mr Flickerman."  
Pam's parting words were not the type of thing one would usually hear from anyone in the Capitol, in fact it would be considered terrible manners to claim aloud that you weren't expecting to like someone, but right now, it simply left Caesar feeling contented. Traditionally, by definition, the districts hated anyone from the Capitol, purely because they were from the Capitol. That was just the way it was, the way it had been ever since The Hunger Games had begun.  
The cat was still taking half-hearted swipes at Caesar as the Master of Ceremonies let himself into Willow's tiny home, bolting the door behind him and wandering through the rooms, checking the windows, and then he released the writhing animal as gently as he could without risking getting his eyes scratched out, and the pair eyeballed one another fiercely, the cat bunched up ready to pounce.  
Caesar glared at it for another long moment, but then his eyes began to peer around the room, and his heart both leapt and sank at the same time. He felt a rush of warmth when he came to accept that this was Willow's home. This was where she had been born, where she had grown up, where she had been determined to get back to after her time in the community home. It was hers, and he loved it for that reason.  
He began to stroll from room to room, taking in the faded paintwork, the worn furnishings, the pitifully meagre amount of personal possessions - that guy from the home really had taken everything, Caesar realised.  
Everything was in its place, and spotlessly clean, but Caesar struggled to imagine Willow here, sat in front of the ancient television set on the single battered armchair, her head, dark not glowing with vitality, bowed over a book... She had looked so - right - under the spotlights, so perfect in the beautiful Capitol dresses and outfits, that it was difficult to think that she originated from somewhere duller, where life was so much tougher, and he knew then he wanted her to be with him, in the city, where she would sparkle more brightly than anyone in Panem. When she came home, he would make it happen, he swore to himself.  
"I guess that means I'm going to have to take you with me," he said to the tabby, who had now stopped hissing and was sitting up as straight as its leg allowed, watching him inquisitively. "Yes, I miss her, too," Caesar muttered. "God, I'm talking to a cat..."  
He wandered around the rest of Willow's home. It didn't take him long - the entire house would probably have fitted into one room of his own residence back in the Capitol - but he felt her there, saw the few photographs of her with her mother and father, so much younger in the pictures, barely even a teenager. Mr and Mrs Monroe's wedding photograph. Willow looked a lot like her father, the same green eyes, thick dark waves, but she had her mother's colouring, that porcelain white complexion.  
Her bedroom smelt of her, and Caesar stood in the doorway for a moment, just inhaling, and then he sighed and backed away.  
"I'll come back for you before I leave," he told the tabby. "Sit tight."  
And with that he let himself out of the house even quieter than he'd gone in.

The interviews didn't take long. Caesar spoke to Pam again, and to Lane, who managed to detach himself from his newest friend especially to appear on camera, in order to proclaim to the entire country that he was sure Willow regretted breaking it off with him and that it was almost a certainty that he was who she had been talking about in her final interview. Caesar nearly managed to hold in a laugh, but not quite well enough.  
"You'll have to edit that out," he chuckled to his cameraman, wiping a hand over his face in an attempt to appear sombre.  
When the last interviewee had been dismissed, he hotfooted it back to Willow's house, chased the cat into a corner and snatched it up in his arms.  
It clawed at him again, but it really seemed too weak to put up much of a fight, and it nestled down against his chest before Caesar had even made it back to the hovercraft.  
"Come on, let's get you well again," he murmured to it as he turned to say goodbye to the small crowd who had gathered in the town square.  
"That's Willow's cat," Lane proclaimed suspiciously.  
"Yes, it is," Caesar answered neutrally.  
"Why are you taking it with you?"  
"So it'll be there when she gets out."  
"I'll be surprised if the vile thing survives the journey!"  
The cat, who, until that very moment, had not so much as twitched a single whisker, chose that second to try and launch himself at Lane, hissing and growling low in its throat. Caesar was completely torn between the idea of letting the animal claw the smarmy little toad's eyes out and the need to hang on to it. In the end, knowing Willow would want it kept safe, he pulled the spitting ball back against his chest and sushed it soothingly.  
"It doesn't like me," Lane said, his lip curling.  
"Animals are excellent judges of character," Caesar muttered, low enough that only Lane could hear him, but with a smile so brilliant that anyone watching would have believed the supervisor was his new best friend.  
"You do like her..." Lane smirked. "She's not for you, Caesar. You're too old, too Capitol..."  
"Really?" Caesar murmured, cocking an eyebrow. "Willow didn't seem to think so."  
"I bet you know nothing about Willow that's not been on tv!"  
"I know she's wearing a rose quartz pendant as a token. I know her mother baked her father an apple pie as an anniversary present the day before they died. And..." Caesar leaned forward to speak softly in Lane's ear, to be absolutely sure nobody else could hear his last words. "And I know she has a tiny mole on her right hip bone... Good day, Mr Collins."


	19. Revenge Is Sweet

It had been easy enough to track down the careers. Willow had moved through the trees where she could, leaping from branch to branch when she felt the distance was short enough for her to cover without falling. Her wound was healing well, but even so, she didn't want to put too much pressure on it just yet - who knew if the bind would give out on her at some point!  
The pack was searching mainly for her and Pitch, from what Willow could make out from the snippets of conversation that wafted up through the leafy canopy. Toby, it appeared, wasn't currently classed as a threat, but it was Willow's understanding that she wasn't either - Jewel just wanted the pleasure of killing her so she could see the horror in Caesar's eyes when she got back to the Capitol.  
As disgusted as it made her feel, Willow couldn't help but be impressed by Jewel's self-belief - the District 1 tribute was so certain she was going to be the one heading home. But that was maybe the only downside to being a part of the career pack - one's safety was only assured for so long. When the moment came, there would be no fond parting of ways so they didn't have to be the ones to kill each other. No, there would be another bloodbath, on a much smaller scale, of course, but a bloodbath nonetheless.  
Willow made sure to stay behind the group, only leaving the safety of the treetops to forage or drink. The careers had found a little string of freshwater pools and, despite their full water bottles, they always seemed to remain within a mile either side of those ponds. It was, therefore, easy enough to pick up their trail again once she had finished hunting or drinking, and if they knew she was following them, they were doing a brilliant job of ignoring her.  
Willow didn't really have a plan of attack as such, she was just hoping that at some point soon either Ava or Jewel would separate themselves from the others, and then she would strike. The idea wasn't pleasing, but it was clear that unless she got very very lucky, there was no way she was going to make it out of the arena with clean hands, and right now, Ava was at the top of her list of people who needed to die. She'd heard the District 2 tribute bragging about the injuries she had inflicted on Ash, appreciated the grudging respect in Tyne's voice when he spoke of her late partner's bravery, and so she wasn't too surprised, when the pack had come across Pitch on the evening of the seventh day, that Jewel, Bourne and Ava simply walked away and left their ally to his fate.

Tyne and Pitch. They were truly remarkable specimens of young male adulthood, even Caesar could admit that. Both eighteen, if memory served him correctly, broad shouldered and long-limbed; he'd watched both of them kill without thought, without mercy. The bookies were going crazy taking on hurried bets over who would be victorious at the end of this perfectly matched duel, and even if Caesar had been allowed to place a wager, he wouldn't have done so on a battle as unpredictable as this would be.  
The clanging of steel on steel rang out around the arena, each of the young men blocking and delivering ferocious blows that even sounded lethal. They were both cut up, bleeding badly, neither of them giving in or backing down. To lose concentration, even for a second, would mean certain death, and neither of them appeared to be prepared to surrender their life to the other.  
The skirmish was long and bloody, the type of fight the people of the Capitol truly loved to watch. This was really what The Hunger Games was all about, fighting to the death, one district suppressing another, and for the first time in over a decade, Caesar was truly sickened by it.  
The cameras didn't cut to anybody else for the entire duration of the duel, so Caesar couldn't even alleviate his disgust or his anxiety by checking on Willow's progress of stalking the careers. Instead, he did the next best thing and commentated as though his life depended on it - even Templesmith couldn't rival Caesar when he got going!  
The battle between 4 and 11 raged for nearly an hour before Pitch's fist landed such a blow that Tyne staggered and fell to his knees, sucking in shallow breaths in the hope of reviving himself, but Pitch kicked at his back, shoving him forward onto his face. Pitch turned, retrieved his weapon, swung round, the blade shooting down towards Tyne's unprotected spinal column, but at the very last second, Tyne rolled over. He still took the sword right through his shoulder, but his own blade sliced upwards, straight into Pitch's gut. Their joint screams of agony were echoed by a cannon shot, and another followed it within seconds. Both boys were dead.  
There were now just five tributes remaining.

"We're gonna have to split up soon, you know that, right?"  
"I guess so."  
"I wish we could get 7 and 8 before that happens..."  
"There's still time. Let's give it another day, maybe two. They can't stay hidden forever."  
"It's weird there's been no sign of them... I was sure 7 would come looking for us after the kid died."  
"Maybe she's not doing too well by herself - the mutt slashed her up pretty good, after all... Perhaps her sugar daddy didn't care enough to send her any medicine."  
Cackles of laughter wafted up through the branches, and upon hearing the conversation taking place directly below her, Willow couldn't contain a hard smile. They really had absolutely no idea she had been stalking them for the past day, and they had even less idea that she was sat right above them now. If she'd had a bow and a sheath of arrows, she could have picked them off one by one, swiftly, decisively, before any of them had known what was happening. Unfortunately for her, they were a trio, and she had only a single axe. Nothing good could come from those odds.  
"What do you wanna do, Bourne?"  
"Let's comb the forest one more time, then we'll head to the hills. 7 must be in here somewhere."  
Even with only three of them, the careers were still confident, cocky, completely sure that they had the advantage over herself and Toby. Willow knew they didn't, for she was aware of where they were heading, what they were planning on doing, and as soon as they parted ways, she would move in so quickly they would wish they had never volunteered!

Willow's chance for revenge came sooner than she had anticipated. The career pack finally extended their search radius that day, and moved away from the chain of pools. Their hunt proved fruitless, however, and they settled down for the night remarkably early, leaving Willow wondering if they would sleep for a few hours and then be back on the prowl again.  
But the fire burned low, and Willow felt her eyes suddenly go heavy. She hadn't really slept properly since Ash's death. Without her district partner to watch over her whilst she slumbered, deep sleep was virtually impossible to achieve, so she dozed when she could.  
A movement below caught her attention and, peering through the leaves and branches, the warm glow of the fire's embers revealed a slight figure stealing away from the makeshift camp.  
Backpack in one hand, her stubby knife clutched in the other, Ava inched away from her sleeping allies, her head never turning away from them until she was out of their line of fire. She was running away, leaving now before the two District 1 tributes could turn on her.  
It was the chance Willow had been waiting for, but as she took off after the District 2 tribute, all she could think was that Ava must be scared, too, that maybe all Ava wanted was to go home, just like her. And then Willow remembered Ava's bragging about murdering Ash, and her heart hardened once again.  
Willow followed Ash's killer for a mile, so they were well out of reach of the other careers and their weapons when she dropped softly to the forest floor about ten metres ahead of Ava. The tribute's wide eyes told Willow that Ava had had no idea she had been followed from her camp - if she'd been expecting anything, it would have been a spear or a knife in the back, thrown by a powerful arm, as she made her escape. Instead, she was being confronted by a person whom she'd believed to be squirrelled away in a tree somewhere, slowly dying of thirst, starvation and infection.  
But here was 7, looking almost ethereal in the dappled moonlight. She was paler, thinner, though no less beautiful than she had been before the Games began. In any other wood, in any other time, Willow might have been one of the delicate faeries Ava's mother had told her stories about when she was tiny. A perfect faery queen strolling through her kingdom, watching over her subjects whilst they slept or hunted through the night.  
Ava suppressed a shudder, for Willow Monroe was no faery queen. The poised axe in her hand made it clear she was on the offensive, and so did the determined look in her eyes. The green, gold-flecked, guileless gems that had captured the heart of Caesar Flickerman and, indeed, maybe all of Panem, were now harder and colder than uncut emeralds.  
Ava dropped her backpack, ready for the fight she believed was to come, but Willow had already launched her axe. Ava tried to avoid it, tried to spin away, but it was too close by the time she saw it, and the deadly blade landed with a sickening crack in her breastbone. For a few seconds, she was too shocked to even realise she'd been hit, but when she glanced down and saw nothing but the axe's black handle sticking out of her chest, she started to scream for Bourne and Jewel.  
"They're too far away to help you now." Willow's voice was devoid of emotion, and Ava shortened the remainder of her earthly existence by wrenching the weapon from her body and hurling it weakly back in Willow's direction. It landed a few feet away from where she stood watching the life drain out of Ava, and as soon as the cannon boomed, Willow hoisted the dead tribute's backpack onto her shoulders, retrieved her own axe and Ava's knife, and rifled through her clothing for anything else that might prove useful. And it was then that she came up with the jackpot of all jackpots. Another axe, smaller, lighter, but just as useful as the one she already had. She gave a quick grin.  
Now. Now she was ready to take on anybody who might venture into her path.

Jewel and Bourne hurtled towards the spot where the hovercraft's giant claw was scooping up the latest victim, and they both cursed when they saw it was Ava, not Willow or Toby who hung limply in the metal jaws.  
"Which one of them do you suppose it was?"  
"I dunno." Bourne shrugged. "Best guess would be 8, he always seemed more like the sneak attack type."  
"Hmm." Jewel nodded her assent, but privately she was less than convinced. She had a feeling Willow was behind her former ally's death, and it made her all the more determined to cut the District 7 tribute's throat. Not because she had particularly liked Ava, but because of the principle of it all. District 1 was far superior to 7, and so was 2 - she refused to allow some jumped up little factory worker to ruin that image.  
"Well, whoever it was, it's taken us down to four tributes. We've gotta get them!"  
"Yeah, we have. We should get one of them and then split up, otherwise it's just going to come down to the two of us, and I'd rather that wasn't necessary, if I'm honest."  
"Okay, let's go." And with that, the pair headed off back the way they had come.

Willow had been a good quarter of a mile in the opposite direction by the time Jewel and Bourne had appeared in the clearing where Ava had taken her last breath, and when she judged herself to be far enough away, the District 7 tribute hauled herself up the sturdiest tree she could find, settled herself in a fork with Ava's backpack, and proceeded to unpack the provisions within, laying them out carefully along the thick branch before her. A packet of crackers, a handful of strawberries, dried beef strips, two two litre bottles filled to the brims with water, three silver parachutes minus whatever they'd had attached to them - Ava had clearly been popular with the sponsors! A thin waterproof jacket, a set of thick but fingerless gloves, and a spare pair of socks. All in all, it wasn't a bad prize, Willow thought, and then bile bubbled into her throat as she realised she had just made her first real kill of the Games, and she forced herself to swallow it back down lest letting it come up would give away her position.  
She sat motionless for several hours, a previously unknown heaviness having descended on her body; fully anticipating the appearance of the two remaining careers at any moment. No one materialised, though. There were less than a handful of tributes left, and it was a big arena. Willow wondered idly what method the gamemakers would use to force them all together, because surely that couldn't be far off now?  
The rest of that day, however, was quiet, and Willow stayed in her tree, suddenly lethargic after the huge rush of adrenaline in the early hours of the morning, and it was only the thought of Caesar's pleading eyes begging her to return home that raised her from the loneliness and the misery that was threatening to overtake her.  
"Come on, Willow," she instructed. "Put your stuff away. Eat. Drink."  
The tribute followed her own commands mechanically, refilling the backpack according to her own preferences as to what she felt was most important, leaving out two crackers, a strip of beef, a few plump strawberries and one of the water bottles, and then she settled back against the trunk of the tree, avoiding the memory of Ava's murder by allowing herself to think of Caesar.  
She hadn't permitted herself to actively reminisce about him very much since she'd been in the arena; she knew all too well how distracting he was to her, and that had simply been a risk she couldn't afford to take whilst she was surrounded by people who wanted to kill her. Now, though, in the relative safety of the tree and with the career pack down to just two members, Willow probably felt safer than she had since Ash's death, and so she allowed her lover into her thoughts.  
She let the recent memories wash over her; from the moment Juno had told her Caesar had been captivated by her during the tribute parade, to the second he had placed the rose quartz necklace around her neck, and by the time the anthem began to play that evening, Willow could almost feel the protectiveness of Caesar's arms around her, could almost taste the peppermint kisses on her mouth, and the sense of security made her smile just a little. The pendant still nestled between her breasts, the weight a reassuring reminder that she wouldn't be alone when she left the arena.  
Soon. I'll be back with him soon, she promised herself silently. It was still early, but her eyelids started to flicker, and she managed to pretend, just for a little while, that she was wrapped tightly in his warm embrace, and she relaxed into sleep, hoping that there had been enough tragedy that day to keep the gamemakers and the viewers happy, so that she could slumber in peace, without fear.

Willow was up and on her way by first light the following morning. She had had seven solid hours sleep, and she was ready to start tracking the careers again. Whilst the pack and the extra axe were welcome additions to her life, she knew they would weigh her down, and so she made the bold decision to journey on foot instead of through the trees as she had been doing, preferring to keep her much more secretive method of travel hidden for as long as possible - after all, who knew if it might come in useful again once Jewel and Bourne had split up...  
She'd lost her bearings when she'd run the previous day, but she attempted to head back in the general direction of the string of freshwater ponds. She knew she was on the right trail when she came upon a pool of dried blood staining the crispy leaves, and realised it was the walkway in which she and Ash had set up their snares. It was his blood, Willow was certain of it, and she paused for a moment, her head bowed. Rather than frightening her, seeing the place where Ash's life had drained away only served to strengthen her determination and her resolve to leave the arena alive.  
Except for pausing at one of the ponds to refill her water bottle, Willow hadn't stopped walking all day, and she was now deep into unexplored territory. The forest surrounding her didn't look any different to the part she had spent the past week in but, as always, her eyes were constantly scanning for potential dangers, and she guessed it to be late afternoon when she finally caught the drifting sound of voices up ahead.  
It was a bit of luck, she thought, finding them so quickly. In all honesty, if she'd have veered even a few metres off track at any point throughout the day, she would have probably missed them altogether.  
Willow proceeded cautiously, trying to ascertain exactly where her rivals currently were. With any luck, they'd be resting, not necessarily off-guard, but maybe not as quick to react as they would have been standing around waiting.  
There they are...  
Willow backed away a little when she glimpsed them, hurrying to shrug off her backpack and conceal it within the thick scrub before moving forwards again - she had no intention of helping them out with supplies if the worst happened! She had an axe in each hand, the knife hidden in her sock, and she was so ready for this to all be over.  
She was still hunkered down in the low-lying bushes when a panting figure crashed into the clearing opposite her, and Willow hit the forest floor so hard she had to spit out the leaves and dust that flew up into her face.  
Toby was panting heavily, his eyes wild, and as Willow peered across behind him, she immediately saw why. Three mutts, exactly like the ones at the Cornucopia on their first day in the arena. They remained at the edge of the clearing, pacing, prowling, snarling, their lips curled back, but Toby was now crouched between the two careers, unkempt and terrified.  
They were all together, the final four. Whether it was by design or not, Willow didn't know, but it had the potential for a very bloody end. She couldn't take on all of them.  
Bourne and Jewel grinned at Toby, their faces just as cruel as those of the muttations, and the District 8 tribute held out his shaking sword in self-defense. They'd make short work of him as a pair, and whilst she had no use of an ally at this late stage in the Games, if Willow wanted anyone else to win out of their little quartet, she would pick Toby.  
It's now or never...  
Willow sucked in a deep breath, pushed herself to her feet, rising slowly out of the bushes like she had done on the pedestal that had taken her from the catacombs to the arena.  
Bourne noticed her first, and he glanced between her and Toby, as though assessing which one of them was going to be the greater threat to his survival. Evidently, at that point, Willow looked more menacing, because he started to move towards her, and it was then that Jewel saw her.  
"No! No, she's mine!" she screeched, immediately charging at Willow, who gave a challenging smile and darted away in the direction she had come, threading expertly through the trees so Jewel couldn't get a clear shot with her knife.  
Willow heard steel blades clashing behind her, and prayed with all her might that Toby could take Bourne out of play, or at least give her time to get a decent distance away. She was no shrinking violet, but neither was she a fool. She knew there was very little chance that she could take down the enormous District 1 male in a face to face duel, in fact, even Jewel might be too formidable an adversary for such tactics... No, she needed to use stealthier methods if she was to win this thing.  
Willow headed in the direction of the Cornucopia. She didn't understand why, but she just felt that was the right place to go, and with nothing else to go on, she figured she would trust her senses on this ocassion.  
She could still hear Jewel, but the slower, heavier tribute was falling back, and Willow continued to zip through the forest, self-preservation making her feet fly, her only thought being to get up into a tall tree near the Cornucopia, and it was as she was scrambling up her chosen trunk that a cannon boomed, echoed, causing all the birds to scatter into the sky in terror, hiding Willow's assent into the branches more effectively than any precautions she could have taken herself.  
She continued upwards, climbing higher than she had attempted in many years, and when she eventually stopped and looked back down to the ground, she caught ocassional glimpses of Jewel circling the trees, unable to determine how she had lost the District 7 tribute when she'd been so close to having her in her grasp.

As Willow slowly regained her normal heart rate, Jewel cursed violently and continued on towards the Cornucopia, perhaps hoping to chance upon her rival, or maybe planning to pick up more supplies, but either way, she disappeared, and Willow risked climbing down a few feet, to where the branches were wider and more evenly spaced out. It was only when she'd gotten herself comfortable that she realised how thirsty and hungry she really was. She had only eaten a light meal that morning, a couple of crackers and the remainder of the strawberries, having wanted to keep some rations aside because she didn't know how much longer she would be in the arena, and over the course of the week, provisions had become more scarce. Her backpack, and the food and fluid it contained, though, were a distant memory, and she berated herself for not keeping it with her.  
As the seal of Panem lit up the darkening sky, Willow couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time she would hear the nightly anthem. Perhaps tomorrow something would happen that would force them together, and they would have no choice but to fight for their lives. She couldn't say that it wasn't time, because she wanted to get out of the arena now, she wanted to go home. She wanted Caesar.

Caesar wasn't sure how he had felt when Willow had thrown that axe at Ava. Despite the look of sorrow that had crossed her delicate features, he couldn't help but feel a little nauseated by it all, although whether those thoughts had been directed at Willow herself or at the horrifying practice in general, he couldn't be entirely sure. What he did know was that his heart hurt for her; he longed to take her in his arms, hold her close, tell her that her ordeal was almost over now, that soon she would be home, safe and sound. He closed his mind to the knowledge that his beautiful Willow had made her first kill, the kill she had never wanted to make, in the game she had never wanted to take part in. She was just a girl, a human being forced into an inhuman situation, he told himself, but from that night on, the ability to sleep, which had returned for a few days, was no longer forthcoming, and he kept vigil alone, praying for the end of the Games, watching her, wanting her.  
"Come home, Willow," he pleaded into the hollow darkness. "You have to come home."

Willow jerked awake to a fanfare of trumpets the next morning. Usually the only communication between the outside world and those trapped in the arena was the nightly death toll, but just occasionally, there was an announcement, usually inviting those who remained to a feast at the Cornucopia. That only tended to happen when food was particularly scarce, though, and Willow pulled herself together wondering if this was it. Was this the beginning of the end? For a feast would mean all the tributes were gathered in one place, and inevitably, that would mean bloodshed.  
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and congratulations on making it thus far!" Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed out across the arena, and Willow immediately wondered if Caesar was seated beside him whilst he made this announcement. The idea somehow made her feel close to Caesar, and she shuffled herself upwards, listening intently to Claudius' next words.  
There was to be a feast, at midday.  
"Jewel, Willow, Toby - good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour."  
There was a burst of static, and then silence fell back over the arena.  
Should she go? In her heart of hearts, Willow knew there wasn't really a choice. If she didn't go, the gamemakers would more than likely send the mutts back in, and if she was honest, she would rather face half a dozen Jewels than one of those razor-clawed monsters again.  
Midday, just a few hours from now and she would be on her way home, one way or the other. She took a deep breath and climbed down the tree, branch by branch, until she could peer at the ground below. She lay watching for a long long time, before she deemed it safe and dropped silently to the ground, and then she sprinted to the treeline at the very edge of the Cornucopia circle and scrambled up the one that offered the best view of the golden horn - let the other pair have it out first, she decided. There was no reason to be risking her life against two of them!  
Jewel's blonde head appeared on the opposite side of the Cornucopia's perimeter just moments after Willow had taken up her position in the tree. The District 1 tribute was doubly cautious now, her movements fluid but purposeful, and there was no doubt that her destination was the horn itself.  
She snuck inside, crouching down behind a stack of empty grates, and she waited.  
Willow stayed in her tree, watching Toby's careful progress across the short stretch of grassland that separated the forest from the Cornucopia. She knew he was going to die, knew that Jewel could afford to wait until he got so close that a hit was assured, and she wanted to cry out to him to run, but she didn't. With her mind screaming at her to warn him, she remained silent.  
Toby didn't even see the knife coming as he ran for the Cornucopia. It hit him right between the eyes and he was dead before he hit the ground. Willow exhaled slowly at the sight.  
Jewel stayed inside the Cornucopia until the hovercraft's giant metal claw had gently lifted his body away, and then she advanced into the open, knowing that Willow was there somewhere, watching her, readying herself for their final showdown.  
It was, perhaps, the inevitable ending.


	20. Showdown

Willow launched the heavier of the two axes at Jewel whilst she was still perched in the tree. The District 1 girl saw it coming, and she whirled away, managing to shift enough to stop it splitting her skull in two, but she screeched in a mixture of agony and anger as the blade sliced across her forehead, severing half of her right eyebrow.  
Willow hit the ground running, charging straight in Jewel's direction, the second axe held up in front of her body, poised to deflect any small, sharp objects Jewel decided to send hurtling her way, but the other girl was too busy trying to stem the blood that was beginning to trickle steadily from her head. She was ready to fight by the time Willow got within a few feet of her, though, her sleeve pressed against the gaping wound.  
Axe and sword crashed together time and time again. Ocassionally one of their weapons managed to catch the other's body, and they would grunt in pain, but neither girl let up, each pushing forward offensively. Jewel was easily the stronger of the two, and this was where all the time spent in training and having enough to eat became evident. Willow, though, having been using her weapon of choice since early childhood, was far more proficient in her attack, the years of physical labour in the environment they were now in had made her movements supple, and she zipped around Jewel fearlessly, the adrenaline having taken over.  
Blood was beginning to soak through Jewel's sleeve now, and she made the foolish mistake of removing the dressing. The liquid began to spill down the side of her face, pooling around her right eye, and she jammed the sleeve back against it.  
The axe caught her arm, and she howled, reflexively jabbing her sword at Willow's stomach. It missed her gut, but by some unlucky twist of fate, Willow moved the wrong way and the blade penetrated deep into her thigh. She felt it slice through her muscles, arteries, tendons, the lot, and it stopped abruptly when it hit bone.  
The District 7 tribute screamed and pulled away, wrenching the sword from Jewel's clammy grip, staggering back as the sheer, excruciating pain threatened to overtake her. She felt suddenly disoriented, and Jewel used her rival's moment of weakness to shove her to the ground. The axe flew from her grasp, landing just out of reach, and Willow swiftly pulled up her leg to assess the damage, curling her body in on itself, watching Jewel, now weaponless, advancing on her.  
The cut on Jewel's forehead couldn't be staunched any longer, it just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, running down into her eye until she could no longer see, but Willow knew she was going to reach for her sword, and she also knew, if the blade was removed, she could end up bleeding to death within a matter of moments. Keeping her leg drawn up towards her torso, she shuffled backwards on her elbows.  
Jewel dove on top of Willow, her hands clutching at the hilt of the sword, trying to wrench it downwards to lengthen the gaping hole in Willow's leg so she would bleed out, but at the same time, Willow's body jerked upwards. Both girls screamed and went limp, Jewel's figure slumped across Willow's, and then silence before a cannon rang out.

_Which of them was it?_  
Caesar's fingers were frozen around the armrests of his chair, his knuckles almost blue such was his grip on them, and he was ashen beneath his tan. His eyes were wide as he stared fearfully at the screen before him, his breathing much too quick and shallow to be considered normal, and he battled nausea as he waited for one of the two fallen tributes to move.  
_Please, God, let her be alive._  
Claudius Templesmith discreetly indicated to the filming crew to keep the cameras off Caesar for now, noting his colleague's sudden palor, his shortness of breath, the obvious panic that flowed out of every pore of his body. Caesar had been acting very oddly during these Games, and although Claudius had had an inkling before, it had taken until this very moment for him to be certain - Caesar had developed feelings for the Monroe girl.  
_Willow, come on, please!_  
As Jewel's body started to shuffle upwards, a moan escaped Caesar's lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut as a chilling hand closed its icy fingers around his heart.  
"No," he begged in a whisper, "Please, no..."  
His chin dropped onto his chest, his figure sinking down into the chair, and all of a sudden, he seemed so much smaller than he really was, every hint of his natural flamboyancy seeming to depart his body in the same moment.  
"Ladies and gentleman, please join me in congratulating the winner of the forty-ninth annual Hunger Games, Miss Willow Monroe!"  
By that point, Caesar wasn't really listening to the head gamemaker's voice telling him what he thought he didn't want to hear, he was simply trying to hold on to his sanity.  
"I'm coming home," a familiar voice murmured hoarsely. "I told you I'd come home..."  
Caesar's head shot up. Was he imagining it? Was he closing his mind to that which he didn't want to accept?  
"Willow?"  
She was there, eyes fluttering, trying to stay awake, but she drifted off into unconsciousness as the huge metal claw gently scooped her up and began to draw her steadily upwards into the jaws of the hovercraft that had materialized from nowhere. As a camera panned down over the scene below, Caesar could finally see what the rest of Panem already knew - the hilt of the compact but deadly knife that Willow had relieved Ava of just days before, now glinted up at him from the spot over Jewel's heart, and this time, rather than being sickened, Caesar could only feel relief.  
Claudius Templesmith was staring at him pointedly, indicating he needed to resume his commentation now, but Caesar could see the edge of a smile around his counterpart's mouth, couldn't miss the twinkle in his eye, and he grinned back.  
She'd done it! Willow had won The Hunger Games.  
"Well, that was incredibly intense, wasn't it, folks?" Caesar heard himself saying, and the actor in him took over for the next fifteen minutes, as they watched Willow being retrieved from the claw by ready-prepped doctors in sterile white gowns and masks, their gloved, talented hands already in action.  
Caesar and Claudius signed off then, and the Master of Ceremonies barely paused long enough to have his microphone removed before taking off at a sprint, heading for the training centre, no longer caring who saw him nor how they interpreted his actions. His only thought was to get to Willow, to make absolutely certain he wasn't hallucinating, that she really was coming home.  
Julius had been expecting him, and the avox caught his brother in his arms as Caesar flew through the rear door of the training centre.  
"Take me to the hospital," Caesar pleaded, and Julius led the way without argument, hurriedly weaving through corridors and down flights of stairs. He'd spent the past few days figuring out the quickest way to the medical floor without having to take the lifts, which were always guarded by peacekeepers, and so he was now well-rehearsed in the most direct route.  
As they pushed through the narrow door to the hospital wing, the brothers met a veritable army of doctors and nurses rushing towards them, their brows all creased intently as they concentrated on wheeling the gurney to the appropriate room.  
Through the moving bodies, Caesar caught a glimpse of their patient and he sucked in an agonised breath.  
Although he had known logically what Willow was going to look like, his mind had not prepared him for the true horror that awaited him. She was so still, so pale that, apart from the garish brightness of her red hair, she almost blended in to the silver table. Tubes and wires were tapped to her, plugged in to machines that were being pushed along by junior nursing staff, and the sword... The sword Jewel had jammed into her thigh was still there, causing Caesar to recoil momentarily in shock, and then he plunged forward before Julius could grab him back.  
"What's happening?" he yelled at one of the doctors.  
"She'll live," the medic answered curtly, initially assuming that Caesar was present in an professional capacity.  
"What about her leg?"  
"It's bad. Very bad."  
"Can you save it?"  
The doctor looked at Caesar properly for the first time, a curious expression crossing his face when he saw the desperation in the presenter's guileless brown eyes.  
"I don't know," he replied truthfully.  
"You'll try?" Caesar said urgently. "Really try."  
"Of course, Mr Flickerman."  
It was an odd exchange, the doctor thought, as he banged through the double doors of the operating room, but the vague interest disappeared from his mind as he set to work.

Six hours. That's how long Caesar stood pressed up against the glass door of the operating room, watching the nimble, gifted hands of the doctors as they worked on Willow. Fluids flowed through tubes, dials and buttons and lights flickered and buzzed from a wall that meant little to Caesar, but was clearly important to sustaining Willow's life. At some point, Julius tapped his back and indicated to the stairs. Caesar nodded, understanding that his brother had to go, but the avox was almost instantly replaced by Delta, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Caesar, her wide eyes fixed on the sword that now lay on a metal side table, still covered in Willow's blood.  
Juno, Vinnie and Chilton Meadows appeared, too, and finally Venetia, who said nothing but who pushed a steaming mug of thick black coffee into Caesar's shaking fingers, and dragged him over to a bench, forcing him to sit for a while whilst she watched over Panem's newest victor.  
Caesar just stared uncomprehendingly at the cup. He didn't damn well want coffee. He wanted Willow. He sucked in a breath that was meant to be calming and placed the mug carefully on the seat beside him, not trusting himself to not hurl it across the corridor, and then he stepped back to the glass door, struck by how similar his shoes sounded on this floor to how they had echoed across his stage the first night of the Games.  
Momentarily, the stylist wondered why Caesar felt the need to watch, what force was drawing him back to the mangled comatose mess that was Willow Monroe? And then Venetia realised that his inability to look away stemmed from the same reason he'd not been able to sleep for the past week, from the same reason he'd been living on a diet which consisted mainly of coffee and those little neon green pills, from the same reason he'd turned deathly pale every time Willow had been in danger, from the same reason he'd felt compelled to visit Ash Rogers' family and rescue that awful cat from District 7. He loved her. Just like he'd said all along.  
Venetia didn't try and make him move away again, didn't reprimand him for subconsciously biting his nails when all the buzzers and lights started sounding and flickering at the same time, she simply stood silently, and squeezed his hand reassuringly when the doctors managed to get Willow's heart going again.  
Three hours later, the same doctor, his long face now pained and weary, pushed his way back through the doors of the operating room, massaging his fingers and pressing them into his lower back. Six anxious faces gazed at him expectantly, but only one set of eyes fixed him with a piercing stare that could have easily turned into a death threat should their owner not liked the prognosis, and it was to this person that the medic directed his answer to their unspoken question.  
"I can't guarantee she won't have a limp, but we've successfully managed to piece her leg back together."  
Caesar exhaled through his teeth, his eyes closing for a brief moment of silent thanks, and when they opened again, he asked, "And, otherwise, she's okay? Her stomach?"  
"Her stomach wound is healing well. She's lost a considerable amount of weight, of course, but that's easily remedied. Her biggest challenge now, once she's out of the woods, will be learning to walk again. She requires intense physiotherapy, and it's likely her full recovery will be lengthy, but yes, she's okay."  
That was all Caesar needed to know. As the quintet of stylists, mentors and the escort chatted feverishly, exchanging relieved grins and hugs, the Master of Ceremonies quietly shook the doctor's hand and said, "Thankyou," in such a genuine voice that it gave the medic pause for thought.  
The fingers that gripped Caesar's were strong, warm, competent, and the doctor leaned in closer to confirm his suspicions.  
"You're not here officially, are you, Mr Flickerman?"  
The truth was apparently obvious, and Caesar no longer saw any reason to keep his position under wraps.  
"No." He shook his blue head a little. "No, I'm not, Doctor - ?"  
"Hertz. Franklin Hertz. Our victor... She won't be surprised to see you here?"  
Caesar held older man's gaze steadily.  
"No, she won't be surprised," he admitted softly.  
"And should I assume you'll be present for a large part of Miss Monroe's recuperation?"  
"As much as possible, yes."  
"Very well then. They'll be moving her momentarily. You'll be able to sit with her, if you like, but don't expect any interaction - we'll keep her topped up on morphling for the first few days, so she can sleep through the worst of the pain."  
Caesar thanked the man again, and Hertz headed the medical team as they wheeled an unconscious, colourless, but altogether much-improved Willow from the operating room, and disappeared through another door a little way along the corridor.  
Caesar hesitantly edged down the hallway behind them, until the doctor reemerged and crooked his finger, beckoning him in. The Master of Ceremonies didn't need to be asked twice.  
"Limb imobilization," Hertz explained, catching the look of concern flash across Caesar's face when he saw Willow in the harness that covered her from waist to foot. "It doesn't look very comfortable, but it's necessary in the initial stages of recovery."  
Caesar didn't really have any choice but to trust him, so he nodded and stepped towards the bed.  
"I'll have a mobilization and physiotherapy itinerary drawn up by tomorrow morning, then hopefully you'll have some idea of a recovery time... I'm sure everyone in Panem is dying to know how she's faring."  
"Hmm, I'm sure they are," Caesar assented, in a dismissive tone that suggested he really didn't care what the residents of Panem wanted.  
"She's not going to wake up tonight, Mr Flickerman, even if you stay, you should try and get some rest. I rather think this Hunger Games has taken its toll on you." And with that, the doctor gave him a small but nonetheless understanding smile, and exited the room, closely followed by his staff, finally leaving Caesar alone with Willow.  
The presenter heard the murmur of voices outside, Vinnie's low rumble, Chilton's affected Capitol accent, someone he presumed to be Delta, although he didn't really know. He guessed Hertz was telling them what he'd already explained to him, but, with the exception of a rather angular nurse who checked on Willow every fifteen minutes without fail, nobody else appeared in the quiet sanctum of that room all night.

Caesar awoke suddenly to something gently brushing through his hair, and without even thinking about it, he jerked upwards, his eyes immediately darting towards the monitor he had quickly come to understand, and he panicked when it hit him that the screen was no longer there.  
And that was when he felt it.  
Her gaze. That beautiful, green, gold-flecked gaze was watching him more intently now than it had ever done before, and for several minutes, Caesar could nothing more than look at her.  
"Willow..." he breathed.  
She remained silent, but her lips curved into a smile sweeter than anything he had ever seen, her slim hand reached up to tenderly hold his face, and those three gestures told him everything he needed to know. His fingers cupped over hers and he pressed his cheek against her palm as relieved, thankful tears of joy filled his eyes.  
"How long have you been awake?" he murmured.  
"A couple of hours," she replied as steadily as her rusty voice would allow.  
"Why didn't you wake me before? Why didn't they wake me?"  
"Doctor Hertz said you'd been awake for days, that I should let you sleep seeing as you'd finally given in."  
"I really wouldn't have minded for something so important." Caesar smiled ruefully, wondering how on earth he had managed to sleep through not only Willow waking up and the removal of a large quantity of the machines, but also her conversation with the surgeon.  
"I know, but I wasn't going anywhere, and you looked so peaceful... I didn't actually mean to wake you now."  
There was pause as Willow allowed herself to become utterly lost in the chocolate brown gaze that looked down at her with such adoration, and suddenly the need to kiss him, to feel him against her was so strong that she wanted to cry.  
"I've missed you," she whispered, and the words were so filled with emotion that they caught in her throat, making her swallow hard.  
"I missed you, too... You have no idea how much..."  
She clung to his hand with a grip that was surprisingly firm for one so weak, not wanting to let him go, but she had to when Doctor Hertz sailed into the room, a team of underlings hard on his heels.  
"Well, Miss Monroe," the surgeon exclaimed. "Here we are again. I trust the two of you are sufficiently reacquainted?"  
Willow glanced at Caesar, and he at her, saying nothing but sharing a small smile that implied there were so many more ways in which they needed to be reacquainted before they would consider it to be sufficient, and Hertz coughed delicately, instantly realising his faux pas, and hurried on with his speech.  
"We plan on taking you out of the harness later today, then tomorrow we'll begin with some light movements of the joints surrounding your injury. Possibly a few days of that, depending on your body's response, and then we'll begin on phase three."  
"What's that?" Caesar questioned, thinking at that moment that 'phase three' sounded rather ominous.  
"Physiotherapy. Intense physiotherapy," the doctor explained. "The president wants you back on your feet as soon as possible."  
"Of course he does," Willow muttered, narrowly avoiding making her eye roll obvious as she remembered where she was.  
Franklin Hertz hid a smirk and swept away again, trailed by his team, and Caesar looked at Willow with a hint of reproach.  
"Sorry," she murmured, already knowing what he was thinking.  
"Just choose your words carefully, sweetheart," he warned, but he said nothing more on the subject, deciding to err on the side of caution and tell her about events in the Capitol instead of causing her possible distress by discussing the Games.  
She listened with interest as he described the parties that had been held in her honour since her return, giggled at the news that probably more than a third of the Capitol's female population (and a high percentage of the males) were now sporting bright red hair and that Juno might have difficulty in sourcing more for Willow's interview.  
"Imitation is the absolute best form of flattery there is here," Caesar finished with a light-hearted chuckle, and she grinned, her eyes resting on him once again, seeing for the first time the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes, and wondering why she'd never seen them before.

Willow noticed a lot of little things about Caesar over the course of the next two weeks. The way he rubbed his hand over his face when he was tired, that he tried to hide the fact he was prone to biting his nails when he was anxious, the soft way he spoke to her when she was discouraged with her progress. They talked about anything they could think of, everything but The Hunger Games - neither of them wanted to relive those dark, terrifying moments until it was absolutely necessary. Caesar rarely left Willow's side, and during those fourteen days, they fell in love, deeply, irrevocably in love.  
They spent their days in physiotherapy. Caesar was there to encourage Willow's first supported steps along the parallel bars, and he was there to catch her when her initial attempts at walking alone again failed. He wiped away frustrated tears, held his tongue whilst she raged at him in anger, couldn't stop beaming with delight when she finally managed to walk unaided across the room.  
The evenings, though, they had to themselves. Cameras watched them from afar, but not a single member of Doctor Hertz's staff tried to separate them, not even on the evening Willow dragged Caesar onto the bed with her and made him relax back into the pillows whilst she leaned against him. Tucked under his arm, her head resting on his chest, breathing in the citrus scent of his skin, was probably Willow's very favourite place to be.  
It was their last night in the hospital that Caesar left Willow alone for an hour. He returned wearing a clean outfit, with his hair retouched and his nails perfectly shaped and polished, carrying something brown and furry that just laid there in his arms. A shabby velvet nose twitched daintily.  
Willow gasped. "Is that - ?"  
Caesar set the creature down carefully beside her.  
"Doctor Hertz finally agreed to let me bring him in."  
"You found him!"  
"To be honest, I didn't have to look far. He was sat on your doorstep when I got there."  
"But I didn't even tell you about him!"  
"Delta did. She caught me just as I was about to board the hovercraft."  
"Thankyou!"  
Caesar flushed in light of her gratitude, and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I named him Winston... I couldn't keep calling him 'the cat'..."  
"No, I don't mind... I guess it suits him now."  
And it did. Just like Willow, the tabby cat was no longer skin and bone, his coat shone with good health, and he didn't seem to have half as much trouble walking since his unexpected move to the Capitol. Indeed, right now, Winston was probably the most fortunate animal in all of Panem.  
He curled up on Caesar's lap once the Master of Ceremonies had settled himself comfortably on the bed, ignoring Willow's gentle hand as she absentmindedly stroked the downy fur on the top of his head.  
"I wish we could stay here," Willow said softly.  
"You don't want to reenter society?" Caesar asked, and she felt him smile against her hair.  
"No." She shook her head against his chest. "I feel safe here. With you."  
Caesar's answering sigh sounded sad to Willow's ears, and he pulled her closer, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.  
"Believe me, the last thing I want is for you to have to go out there, but President Snow wants Panem to see you, and Doctor Hertz has finally admitted that you're well enough for that to happen, so you leave here tomorrow morning and the victory ceremony is in the evening."  
Willow seemed to shrink against him, and Caesar hated the feeling of impotency that washed over him when he realised how scared she truly was of leaving their sanctuary.  
"I'll be with you," he promised. "Every step of the way."  
"The show must go on, right?"  
Caesar nodded slowly, wishing she'd never been caught up in this.  
"Yes, the show must go on... The show must always go on..."


	21. Saying Goodbye

Caesar was true to his word. He stayed by Willow's side until it was time for her to be handed over to Juno, Catia and Cassia for her prep to begin, and she desperately tried not to let her panic show as she watched him walk away. Caesar risked a glance over his shoulder at her, and he immediately wished he hadn't looked when he saw silent tears glinting on her smooth cheeks.  
Venetia noticed them too, felt Caesar's barely perceptible stalling, and slipped her arm through his, preventing him from turning on his heel and high-tailing it back to Willow.  
"Come on, let's get you ready - it's a big, big night!" she singsonged merrily.  
It certainly was, Caesar thought. This evening belonged to Willow, but in his heart of hearts, he knew she didn't want it. That, really, she just wanted to pretend The 49th Hunger Games had never happened. She wanted to be somewhere safe, tucked up in his embrace, and my God, he wished he could give her that! He slowed, his mind whirling. Maybe, just maybe, to some small extent, he could...  
"Hang on, Vee," he said, abruptly disengaging himself from the stylist's hold.  
"You can't go to her!"  
"I'm not. I want to go and see Mercer."  
Venetia was momentarily nonplussed but she let him go, watching Caesar as he threaded his way through the throng of brightly dressed workers. He smiled at everyone who spoke to him, but after two weeks of effectively being away from the spotlight, he seemed a little dazzled by all the attention, and it was almost with a look of relief that he passed into their producer's plush office.  
"Caesar! Where the hell have you been all this time?" Mercer greeted him jovially and slapped him heartily on the back.  
"I've been, er, busy," Caesar replied vaguely. "Listen, there's something I want to run past you about tonight..."  
And with that, he closed the door on interested ears, hit the switch which blacked out the glass walls to prying eyes, and began to outline his idea so eloquently that it was utterly impossible for Mercer to say no.

Willow had seen Delta a couple of times throughout the previous two weeks, but there had been no sign of Juno, Vinnie or Chilton, so when she emerged from her hospital room for the final time, she was genuinely overjoyed to see them all standing at the end of the corridor waiting for her. Even Antonio was there to give her a hug and congratulate her on her win.  
"Come on, time to get ready," Juno said, steering Willow away from the little crowd, and taking her hand reassuringly once they were out of sight of the others.  
It was only on the elevator ride back up to the training centre lobby that Willow realised just how far underground the hospital wing actually was. It was way below even the training floor where, just one month ago, she and the other tributes had been practicing tying knots and learning how to kill one another. Nausea welled up into Willow's throat as the faces of all those who wouldn't ever be returning flashed through her mind, and something that resembled a boulder settled itself where her heart should be.  
The thin metal cane Doctor Hertz had provided her with echoed even more hollowly in the emptiness than Juno's spiked heels, and Willow was grateful that the windows had been blacked out to prevent anyone tracking her, rather unsteady, progress across the lobby to the tribute elevator.  
"Can you walk without that?" Juno asked, her pink head bobbing towards the cane.  
"Not very well," Willow replied, "Why, will it be a problem?"  
Juno's head tilted one way and then the other as she regarded the victor and the contraption that was keeping her upright.  
"No, we can work round it."  
They travelled up to floor seven in silence, and when they emerged from the elevator, Willow was immediately enveloped in the ecstatic arms of Catia and Cassia, both of whom were talking so fast that she couldn't understand a word they were saying. The sentiment, though, was clear. They'd missed her and they were delighted to see her. Especially as she was in one piece. And if she was honest, Willow was happy to see them, too.  
She was treated to roast chicken for lunch, with a small helping of creamed potatoes and the tiny vegetables she'd first experienced on her arrival in the Capitol. Her portions were still being controlled by the itinerary Doctor Hertz had drawn up, but her meals had been gradually increasing in size over the past few days and she was hopeful that by the time she made it home, she'd be able to eat normally again.  
It was horrible, sitting down to a meal like this without Ash. Willow hadn't noticed it whilst she was in the hospital; the combination of being somewhere different and in Caesar's company had given her no cause to think about it, but now, back in the District 7 apartment, with Catia, Cassia and Juno, everything suddenly felt wrong, and Willow pushed her plate away before she was even halfway through.  
"Are you okay?" Juno asked, the concern clear on her painted face.  
"What? Hmm, just nervous," Willow lied hastily. "I don't want it all coming back up on stage."  
Juno didn't look convinced but she let the matter rest, and after lunch, she disappeared whilst Catia and Cassia guided Willow along to her suite to begin on her prep.  
"Oh, I'm so jealous! You got a full body polish!" Cassia squealed enviously.  
But all Willow could see when she looked in the full length mirror was that her body somehow looked different. Yes, her skin was flawless, and not only had all the scars from the arena been smoothed away, so had all the marks her body had sustained over the past eighteen years of her life, but there was still something not quite normal about her figure.  
"Why didn't they remove that whilst they were there?" Cassia said, disdainfully pointing at the tiny mole on Willow's hip bone.  
"Because I asked them to leave it," Willow replied. "Caesar had a rather heated discussion with them over it, but they gave in eventually."  
The sisters exchanged a look - they had suspected before the Games had started, but now it was very obvious their suspicions had been correct.  
"Was Caesar with you the whole time you were in hospital?" Catia asked as she pressed various buttons on the panel for the shower, adjusting the settings until they were how she desired them.  
"Yes, he was."  
"That would explain why nobody's seen him..."  
"So... Are you two official now, or what?"  
"Uh, I don't know," Willow hedged. "Unofficially official, I guess."  
Catia grinned, and Cassia relieved the victor of her cane.  
"In you pop."  
The first unexpected wave of nausea hit Willow the moment she stepped under the strawberry-scented waterfall, and she gagged so violently that Catia slammed her palm against the panel to halt the spray, and the twins both shrieked at her as they wondered aloud what was wrong.  
"It was the smell of the water, that's all," Willow murmured, straightening up once again, confused at the randomness of the sensory assault.  
"Do you want to try something else?"  
"I think that would be best."  
Catia switched the scent to raspberry, but the sickly sweetness had exactly the same effect. As did the peach, and the mango.  
"Try the lemon," Willow muttered, thinking that, really, between all the starting and stopping, she was surely clean enough now, even by Capitol standards!  
The subtle citrus tones, though, were absolutely fine, and she finished off her shower with no further bouts of nausea. When she stepped out, dripping wet, Cassia patted her dry with a towel so she didn't have to use the heaters and then they smothered her in a soothing moisturiser. Even though the prep team's ministrations were gentle, Willow couldn't help flinching as their fingers glided over her body, for certain places were definitely more sensitive than others.  
Catia and Cassia didn't seem to notice, though, for as soon as they were done, they wrapped Willow in a satin jade-green robe and settled her in the prep chair.  
"You have no idea how hard it was for Juno to get hold of this colour," Catia said, as the two preppers carefully brushed the bright red dye onto Willow's roots. "Everyone is using it!"  
Willow chuckled. "Caesar mentioned that it had become rather popular."  
"Seriously, by the morning after the Games had ended, three of my four neighbours either had a new wig or they'd had their hair done in this exact shade!"  
After that, beyond the odd noncommittal response, it wasn't really necessary for Willow to speak again because the pair prattled on continuously about the Games, about where they had been when certain events had taken place, what they had been doing when this or that had happened. Everything was about them, not about the tributes, but whether by design or simply good fortune, neither of them mentioned Ash or Ava or the finale, and by the time they moved onto her nails, Willow had tuned out to what they were saying.  
Juno returned then, with something long and dark draped over her arm, and Willow caught a hint of sparkle when Cassia and Catia eased it down over her curves.  
"Shoes!" Juno barked as Willow tried to step towards the mirror, and Catia slipped a pair of silver leather sandals onto her feet, lacing them up at just the right tightness, and then finally Juno permitted Willow to view herself in the looking glass.  
The silk shimmered with every movement, the faintest ripple gave the illusion that Willow was wearing the ocean as it reflected the night stars back into the inky sky, and it absolutely mesmerised the victor. Narrow diamond clasps secured the dress on her shoulders, and a matching band sat snugly around her waist, but otherwise her outfit was midnight-blue. The front half of her hair had been caught up with another diamond clip, and the curls were more sculpted now than they had been at her previous public appearances. Black polish, inlaid with silver, coated her nails, and her make-up, though still natural, had been applied with a firmer hand than before, her lashes were more defined, her eyes just a shade darker.  
What had been Juno's motivation behind this look, Willow wondered... Her other gowns, though elegant, had lacked the sophistication of this dress. This ensemble made her look older, more in control, more ready for whatever the world was going to throw at her...  
"I look very... grown up," Willow ventured softly.  
"I think it's the right time," Juno answered carefully, and the victor caught the hesitation in her stylist's voice.  
Although Willow didn't understand Juno's work, it served as a reminder to her that the Games weren't over just yet, that she still had to be on her guard at all times, in front of just about everybody.  
"Ready?"  
"As I'll ever be," Willow answered, stretching out to retrieve her cane.  
"You won't need that tonight."  
The victor raised an eyebrow but Juno ignored it and held out an arm. "Let's go."

The lighting was absolutely abysmal down here, Caesar thought, as he watched the hustle and bustle of the studio staff going about their business. It was customary for the victor to rise from beneath the stage, along with his or her support team. First the preppers, then the escort, the stylist, the mentor and finally the victor. This year, though, with a victor who could barely walk unaided, let alone keep herself balanced on the moving metal plate, the whole thing had been rethought.  
By now, ordinarily, Caesar would already be on the unlit stage, in his chair, waiting for the music to begin, but this year he had persuaded Mercer to swap the order of the team's appearance so that Willow would take the stage first, with him, and she could greet everyone with him at her side.  
His mouth fell open when he caught a glimpse of her on Delta's arm, and suddenly everything around him paled in comparison to the combination of happiness and relief in her green eyes. The mentor passed him Willow's hand wordlessly, and then she stepped away to wait for Chilton, Juno and the preps to join her - they were, Caesar correctly presumed, getting into their own costumes.  
As Willow's fingers curled around his, she felt the warm pressure of his reassurance seeping into her veins, and when she studied him, all at once, she understood her stylist's design. In her, Juno had created the image of a perfect mate for Caesar Flickerman, the darling of the Capitol. That was why Juno had made her appear older, that was why her elegance was so important. Tonight, albeit unofficially, she would be shown as Caesar's counterpart.  
She pressed back against his hand, grazed a manicured nail lightly along his palm, and smiled a little when he sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected caress, suddenly realising that she very much wanted to reacquaint herself with him in every way possible.  
"Soon." He bent his head low so he could murmur in her ear, and she shivered delicately when she felt his hot breath on her neck. "Tonight, if we can."  
"Do you think it'll be okay? My leg, I mean..."  
"I promise to be extremely gentle with you," he whispered softly, and it was her turn to inhale when she glanced up and saw the desire in his dark hooded eyes.  
"Mr Flickerman, it's time for you to take your places now."  
Caesar hadn't even noticed the stage-hand appear behind him, and he wondered briefly if the younger man had overheard his conversation with Willow. From the openness of the boy's expression, though, Caesar guessed not, and he tucked Willow's arm into the crook of his elbow, slowly but firmly guiding her towards the metal circle.  
"Okay?" Caesar questioned, as they took their places on the plate.  
"I'm scared," she admitted, in a small voice that really didn't suit the sophistication of her look. "I don't want to watch them die again."  
"I'll be right here."  
"Don't let go."  
"I won't," he vowed, and he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before the stage-hand switched on their microphones manually, and then she watched in awe as Caesar transformed in front of her very eyes. His shoulders went back, the dazzling smile beamed at her, his eyes took on that expression of impartiality, and then Willow could hear the trumpets that heralded the opening of his show, and she followed his lead, straightening her spine, tilting her chin upwards, just slightly, as the metal plate began to push them upwards onto the stage.  
"... so please welcome your host, Caesar Flickerman, and the winner of the 49th Hunger Games, Miss Willow Monroe!"  
The lights were blinding, the screams were deafening, the roar of the audience made the metal rattle beneath their feet, and all Willow wanted to do was run away, back to the safety of her hospital room, dragging Caesar with her. She didn't, though, of course. The steadiness of his grip gave her the strength and the mental determination to step off the podium, and although she clung to him, she found the will to smile and wave to the ecstatic crowds.  
The audience stood as one the moment they appeared, and the applause still hadn't completely abated when Catia and Cassia were introduced five minutes later. The twins pranced around the stage, taking short, jerky bows, finally stopping in front of Willow, whom they hugged affectionately, and then they each bestowed several air kisses on Caesar, who somehow managed to accept them graciously without breaking his hold on Willow.  
Chilton Meadows was introduced next - how long must he have waited for his moment in the spotlight, Willow pondered, for even though he had been the District 7 escort for a while, she had never seen him on the winning show. Juno and then Delta both received standing ovations, of course, they'd performed brilliantly, and each of them pulled Willow into a tight embrace before Caesar steadily, as though the walk wasn't sheer agony for her, supported her as she lowered herself into the chair beside his own.  
As the lights dimmed and the seal of Panem appeared on the screen, Willow realised just how unprepared she was. She had known already she hadn't wanted to watch her fellow tributes die, but now she realised she would be watching their stories, too. She would have to see Ash's story. She would have to see how he had died.  
Editing eighteen days worth of footage into a three hour programme had to be quite a feat, Willow thought, although whoever put it together had done a remarkable job. The first thirty minutes or so focused on the events before they entered the arena: the reaping, the tribute parade, the reading of the training scores, and they showed both interviews. The audience sighed collectively as they watched the kiss again, and through the gloom, Caesar saw Willow glance back at him and smile gently, and he brushed across her fingers with the pad of his thumb.  
Then came detailed coverage of the initial deaths; the mutts, Willow and Ash working out how to get rid of the mutts, Willow sending Ash away to the safety of the forest, her race across the Cornucopia circle, Ash incapacitating her mutt mere seconds before it would have killed her, the moment in which they became allies. After that, though, the filmmaker's alternated between clips of the other tributes' deaths and clips of Willow. Their desperate attempts to stop the infection taking hold, the parachute that had ensured her survival, using the rabbit to ensure the water was free of poison.  
Caesar felt Willow start to shake when they were forced to watch Ava torturing Ash, and he gripped her hand tighter as the District 2's knife jammed down into the boy's heart. From that moment on, in the film, if not in real life, Willow was portrayed as a ruthless killer, tracking down and killing Ava, hunting down the remaining two careers and forcing them to split up.  
Then came the finale. Willow's and Jewel's showdown. Watching it back, their duel was far more horrific than it had felt at the time. Now she could see the true extent of the injuries they had inflicted on one another, hear the overwhelming pain in their cries as their blades had connected with the other's flesh, and it scared her to remember how easy it had been to use the knife she'd had concealed in her sock. When it had come down to it, she'd been able to commit murder as easily as any of the careers.  
Murder... By that point Willow's heart was pounding, and the impulse to flee was almost inescapable. The only thing keeping her in her seat was Caesar. Both of her hands were clinging to one of his as though he were her lifeline, and maybe, at that point, he was.  
The programme ended with her hoarsely whispered acknowledgement that she was going home, and then the anthem of Panem was playing as President Snow himself took to the stage to bestow upon her the victor's crown. Caesar helped Willow to her feet, and smiled at her reassuringly as he released her for the first time in almost four hours and stepped back to allow the president to place the golden circlet on her head.  
There was a huge applause as the president departed, and Willow was feeling quite faint from the combined exertion of standing and waving by the time Caesar finally bade the country goodnight, reminding them, as though the citizens of Panem had a choice, to tune in for the final interview tomorrow.

Despite their earlier hope of spending the night together, Willow didn't see Caesar again until the following day. As soon as the cameras switched off, she was swept away to the presidential palace for the Victory Banquet. There was very little opportunity to eat, though, as Capitol officials and generous sponsors vied for her attention, scrabbling over one another in order to have their photograph taken with her. She continued to smile and thank them as night turned into early morning, and the last person she had her picture taken with was a sultry woman with cerise pink hair.  
"It's wonderful to meet you, Willow" the woman purred. "And I'm glad the medicine did the trick."  
The victor glanced up sharply.  
"You were my sponsor?"  
"My husband..." The woman inclined her head towards a tall dark haired gentleman who raised his glass in their direction. "By proxy, anyway."  
"Why by proxy?" Willow quizzed curiously.  
"Your real benefactor isn't permitted to sponsor tributes himself."  
Suddenly Willow knew who had sent her the medicine for her infection, and she wondered why she'd never considered it before.  
"Caesar," she said softly.  
The woman smiled. "You've made him happier than I've seen him in years."  
"You know him well?"  
"I should do. I'm Theodora," she murmured, "His sister."  
There was little time for more conversation, for Delta chose that very moment to whisk Willow away from the party, and the mentor had to prod her awake when they arrived back at the training centre.  
"Let's get you to bed, you're on air at two."  
In spite of Caesar's obvious absence, Willow was simply too tired to stay awake and ponder the events of the day, and she woke the following morning to Catia and Cassia jerking off her bedcovers, and exclaiming that she needed to get up right that second, they had a lot to fit in over the course of the next three hours.  
They had the same disastrous issues with the scented water, but this time, Willow wasn't able to hold in the nausea, and she was violently sick onto the floor of the shower cubicle, at which point the twins backed away, and sent in an avox girl to tend to Willow's needs. They were surprised to see the girl emerge from the bathroom a few moments later, and pile a plate with bread rolls and three varieties of melon, and when the sisters ventured back, they found their charge perched in the prep chair, snacking on the bread and the fruit.  
"Are you alright?" Catia queried.  
"I think I just got too hungry," the victor said brightly. "I'm okay now."  
This was to be her final prep for six months, and the two women chatted continuously throughout it. Juno wandered in towards the end, and shooed them away, personally doing Willow's make-up, and then she helped the tribute into the dark green pencil skirt that ended just above her knees, and a matching silk jacket with three quarter length sleeves and wide lapels. The coat was secured with a large silken rose of the same shade. The merest hint of cleavage was on show, the rose quartz pendant snuggled in its usual position, and the outfit clung subtly to every curve. She looked... alluring, sexy, ready to dominant the stage.

Caesar couldn't help but smile to himself when he discovered this final interview would be taking place in the training tower. For fifteen years, the show's producer had been trying to persuade Snow to allow Caesar access to the tributes' Capitol home, and for fifteen years they'd been refused. And now, after goodness knew how many illicit visits on Caesar's part, Snow had finally agreed to let them film the final interview in the training centre.  
He was already pottering around the living room when Willow appeared with Juno, and he was at her side immediately, his arms around her, his lips seeking hers as soon as the stylist had departed and they were alone.  
"Nearly there, sweetheart," he murmured when they'd taken their seats, and then someone was counting backwards from ten and suddenly they were live on air, broadcasting right across Panem.  
The lack of live audience was a relief as far as Willow was concerned, and Caesar, as always, was the perfect host, teasing her, gently coaxing out replies to even the questions that required the fullest of answers, and before she knew it, Caesar was signing off, and it was all over.  
It was time for her to go home.  
"I'll see you soon," Caesar promised, and he tried to not let the tremor in his voice show. "Really, really soon."  
Willow couldn't stop the tears rolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in his shirt. She dreaded letting him go, wanted to plead with him to let her stay, but she knew he needed to talk to the president before she could make her move to the Capitol. It was only the hope of Snow approving their request that persuaded her out of his embrace, and into the car with the blacked out windows that would take her to the tribute train. She didn't allow the idea of Snow refusing what they asked to enter her head.  
She stood at the window as the train rolled out of the station, and she saw him there, in the midst of the crowd, his jay blue hair almost lost in the sea of brightly coloured heads. He didn't wave goodbye and neither did she, she simply held his gaze until she could no longer see him, until the blackness of night descended as they entered the tunnel that separated the Capitol from the districts, and then she remained there until Delta and Vinnie pulled her forcibly away.


	22. A Deadly Discovery

It seemed to Willow like the entire community was waiting at the station when the tribute train pulled into 7, and it surprised her at how readily she accepted the cheers and the adoration of the crowds. Little girls she had never seen before, dressed in plain white cotton dresses, handed her bouquets of gaily coloured woodland flowers. Young boys who hadn't yet learnt to fear The Hunger Games told her how brave she was taking on the careers. Mayor Strickland, his rarely-seen wife at his side, made a speech to welcome her home, and district officials shook her hand and congratulated her on her remarkable finale. No one mentioned her limp or the metal cane that she still relied on to stay upright. Nobody acknowledged what the Games had cost her.  
The first few weeks flew by for the mandatory celebrations had to be observed. A banquet was held in her honour, to which only the highest ranking citizens of 7 were invited. There was a week's holiday for the whole district during which time the lumber yards closed their gates, the factories turned off their machines, and everybody was free to enjoy the food and the entertainment the Capitol had provided for their pleasure. It was a delight for Willow to see what her neighbours were like when they weren't being dragged down by deadlines and hunger. Nobody from 7 had won the Games for so long, the full length of her lifetime, in fact, for Vinnie had been their last winner, the year of Willow's birth, that it gave her a thrill to watch the children running around with handfuls of sweet treats.  
Willow's favourite moment, though, by far, was Parcel Day. On the first day of each month until next year's reaping, a food package would be delivered to every single person in the district. Tinned meats, fresh fruit and vegetables, fine Capitol bread, even chocolate, nothing was too good for the people of the victor's district. Sacks of grain and small drums of oil were left on every doorstep. Everyone's bellies would be full for twelve whole months just because she had won The Hunger Games, and for once she was glad she had been a part of them.  
So, between the parties and the ceremonies and the meals, Willow didn't really get so much as a moment's privacy to reflect on her time in the Capitol. She received a phone call every two days, without fail, from Franklin Hertz to check on her progress. He still had her on a strict schedule for the exercising of her leg, and after the fifth conversation of him basically reminding her to be careful but regular in her movements, she was irritable and ready to suggest she would simply contact him if she had any problems, but then he said, "Before you hang up on me, there's someone here that wants to say hello." And when Willow heard the familiar voice in her ear, she could have wept with happiness.  
"Caesar!"  
"Hi, sweetheart," he said softly.  
Their chat was brief, he reassured her that Winston was having the time of his life in the Capitol, she told him quickly about all the events that had happened since she'd returned home, he said he'd got an audience with the president in three weeks time, and when she hung up, the tears fell because she suddenly realised again how much she missed him.  
It wasn't that she hadn't seen him at all since she'd been back, but it had always been on a screen, when she was surrounded by reporters or officials, or both, and she'd not been able to take the time to watch him, to think about him privately, to remember the way he'd made her feel. She longed for that. Not just to kiss him, or to make love to him, but for his desire to support her, to keep her safe, for his encouragement when she was struggling, for his gentle words when she awoke, screaming, from her nightmares...  
After that phone call, she didn't consider telling Doctor Hertz not to ring her anymore; indeed, she would have happily listened to a pep talk from him every day if it meant she could speak to Caesar again. And he was there a few times when Hertz called, and on each ocassion they counted down the days to his audience with the president, told each other what had been happening in their lives, whispered that they loved one another and that it wouldn't be long now, and they both finished the call feeling sadder than when they had started.  
Eventually, though, the reporters and the camera crews packed up and left. Willow settled into her new home, the house in the Victor's Village that was far too large for one person living alone, and the everyday life of District 7's residents resumed. She finally got the chance to visit Ash's parents. His mother was civil, his dad had pulled her into a hug that only a father could give, and it made Willow pine for her own family.  
"Is he looking after you?" Trent Rogers couldn't help asking.  
"Is who looking after me?"  
"Caesar."  
The shock must have registered on Willow's face because Trent looked bashful and apologised profusely.  
"It's okay," Willow murmured. "I just didn't think we'd been that obvious on screen..."  
"You weren't," Trent reassured her quickly, "Caesar told me, when he visited us."  
"Caesar? Came here?"  
Trent nodded, puzzled that she hadn't known. "Yeah, before the interviews. To tell us how sorry he was about... about Ash... And that he wished he could have had the chance to repay him for not giving away your location..."  
The memory of watching her district partner's torture made Willow shudder, and the nausea that had been plaguing her on and off for weeks hit her again with its full force. She took her leave of the Rogers family a few minutes later with the hope of returning soon to talk about Ash, to get to understand him through the eyes of those who had loved him.

Four weeks to the day after he'd last seen her in the Capitol, Franklin Hertz visited Willow in her new home. With his bright clothes and intricately-designed facial hair, he looked completely out of place in the muted setting that was 7's Victor's Village, but even the most skeptical person in the district couldn't doubt his competence or his surgical ability. Willow's limp had become visibily less pronounced as the days had passed, and had anyone have tried to speak against him, she would have been the first to extol his virtues.  
He arrived with little fanfare, with only one underling, whom Willow recognised from her hospital stay, and even she was made to wait outside the room whilst Hertz checked Willow over.  
He concluded that her leg was sufficiently healed to allow one of the district doctor's to take over her aftercare, although he did ask her to keep up with the exercises he had allocated her and to call him directly if she felt her subsequent medical care wasn't good enough. She promised she would, and then asked him a question that gave him cause to frown a little. He performed a few more simple tests, checked her blood pressure, and then signed and handed over the documents that discharged her from his care, along with another envelope that he advised her to wait until she was alone to open.  
She walked him to the gateway of the Village and smiled as she waved goodbye, and then she wandered across to Delta's house to reveal the good news. Her mentor grinned, congratulated her and invited her to stay for dinner, and Willow spent the evening with Delta and her family, teaching Ivana, the youngest of the Jones' children, how to climb the tree in their garden.

President Coriolanus Snow was bored. There had been little intrigue in these Games, no tributes trying to undermine the Capitol, the victor hadn't done anything foolish in order to secure her win; in fact, this year had run just as his predecessor had intended The Hunger Games to go. Which was fine, but it made for a potentially unexciting year for Snow.  
He was lounging in the family room in his private apartments in the presidential mansion. His wife was sat across from him in a very ornate, straight-backed, gold brocade chair, her long slim fingers flipping through a fashion magazine - that meant it was almost that time of year where she would be replacing her entire wardrobe for the most up to date items.  
His two daughters, Sabina and Tanaquil, were playing with the dolls house he had had made for them. They hadn't been particularly grateful when he'd presented it to them on the day of the reaping, but a few quiet words had shown them the error of their ways, and it had since become their most treasured possession. It made him smile to see them enjoying it.  
He flipped on the television just in time to see Caesar Flickerman announcing The Hunger Games highlighs, and he settled down to watch it. Despite the show having been broadcast almost a month ago, he still hadn't seen the whole thing, and he figured it was about time that he did. It would, at the very least, stave off his boredom for a while!  
Snow smiled smugly when he switched the television off four hours later. Maybe this year wasn't going to be as tedious as he'd anticipated, especially as he now believed he knew precisely what Caesar Flickerman wanted to see him about the following week. Coriolanus wondered how Flickerman would go about making his request. Even as a boy, the Master of Ceremonies had had a way with words. Snow remembered him from his frequent meetings with Lucius Flickerman; his swiftness, his wit, had obviously pained the head gamemaker, but it had made the president chuckle, and that was ultimately why Caesar had become the official host of The Hunger Games. Coriolanus Snow appreciated nothing if not the ability to turn a phrase. Words had always been an endless source of power as far as he was concerned.

The president never found out how Caesar planned to ask his question. Due to unforeseen circumstances, Snow was forced to have his secretary reschedule their appointment, and when he sent for him the day after their original meeting date, at the discovery of a gap in his diary, he was angry but not overly surprised when Head Peacekeeper Darius Casanova strode into the room with an anxious look on his face. Snow knew that Darius and Caesar had been good friends for many years, and he understood that Casanova really didn't want to be the one to impart the news he knew could easily result in Caesar's demise.  
"We can't find him, sir... Caesar's gone."


	23. A Decent Proposal

Willow groaned and pushed herself back from the sink for the third time that day. She rubbed a hand over her weary face and then took a tentative sip of water from the glass she'd already prepared. After another two or three swigs, she was grateful to find it appeared to be staying down, and she wondered idly how much longer she would have to put up with the almost constant waves of nausea that had been plaguing her since the strawberry-scented shower had set it off five weeks before. No matter, she thought, it would go eventually, or at least that's what Doctor Hertz had told her.  
She'd dragged herself out of bed just before ten that morning, having still not quite righted her body clock from the time she had spent in the Capitol, and if she was honest, getting up every day was just getting more and more of a chore. Sometimes the fatigue was simply overwhelming.  
She had, however, managed to ready herself in time to stroll down to the town square with Delta and Ivana. The little girl had needed new shoes, and she had been adamant that Willow should accompany them to her fitting. And seeing as 7's latest victor had very few activities with which to fill her days now the media circus had departed, she agreed readily to Ivana's suggestion.  
It was only since she'd been back at the house, without the sweet distraction that was Ivana Jones, that Willow's queasiness had returned, and she took the water with her when she stepped outside into the large rear garden that overlooked the woods. She meandered barefoot across the lawn, trailing her fingers over the silken petals of the enormous white roses that graced her garden. Elsie Dunwoody's single bush was nothing compared to these beauties, handpicked gifts from President Snow himself, from his own garden, as a welcome present to her new home.  
She shuffled onto the swinging bench that was situated close to the back of the house, pushing off with her toes before curling her good leg under her body; her injured one wasn't yet at the stage where it could stretch that far, but the position was comfortable enough to keep her there for almost an hour before she decided she was hungry enough to arrange herself something to eat.  
She settled for lamb stew and the pearly grain she was now able to easily afford. No longer did she have to force down the grain that became a brownish-grey mush once it had been cooked. There was a lifetime of comfort to look forward to now she was a victor. She was rich beyond her wildest dreams. She had been granted a monthly allowance for the remainder of her life, she'd been allocated one of the stunning houses in the Victor's Village, and she still owned her parents' house in town. Upon the circumstance of her death, any family she had living with her in the Village would have to move back there. She could use the finest shops 7 had to offer, she would even be able to shop in the Capitol once a year, when she went back as a mentor.  
A mentor... Yes, she was considered a mentor now. She couldn't walk past the district's schools any longer without wondering which of its pupils would be her tribute next year. She caught herself watching Delta's children sometimes, and praying it would never be one of them. Being a victor guaranteed a person a lot, but it didn't make one's own children immune from the reaping. There was a slight security in that they would never need to take out tesserae, the act of adding a child's name into the reaping bowl more times in exchange for a year's ration of grain and oil, but it still wasn't impossible for their name to be drawn, especially as the number of times the child's name was added into the pool increased by one every year from the ages of twelve to eighteen. One entry the first year, two the second, and by the time the child reached eighteen, they were entered at least seven times, even without the tesserae entries. The knowledge made Willow shudder, and she pushed away her bowl of stew, all but flinging the remaining contents into the rubbish bin, before stalking into the sitting room and throwing herself onto the sofa.  
She was hoping for some type of broadcast tonight. She didn't want to watch any of The Hunger Games recaps, not this year's nor any other year's, but as Caesar always introduced them, she couldn't resist the opportunity of seeing him, even if it was only for a few minutes on a screen. As seven o'clock came and went, though, it was evident that no such programme was going to be forthcoming, and she was genuinely debating the idea of going to bed when there was an abrupt rattle on her front door that made her start and gasp in panic.  
Willow approached the entrance hall somewhat cautiously, fully aware that it wasn't Vinnie, Delta or any of their family members at her door, because they each had a key to the other's homes. She wasn't really sure why, they just did.  
She left the security chain on as she inched the door open and peered outside, and then, when she finally registered who was standing there, Willow slammed the door shut, scrabbled to wrench off the chain and jerked the door open again.  
They stared at one another for a long moment, the victor and her visitor, and then, their gaze never breaking, she stepped wordlessly backwards so he could cross the threshold. He placed the crate he was holding carefully on the floor, and a ball of brown fur streaked out and away down the hall. They both ignored it. They weren't separated by several hundred miles. There was no television screen between them. Indeed, there was no barrier between them at all. Willow launched herself forward at the exact same moment as he did, and they collided in the middle of the hallway, enfolding each other in desperate arms. Her leg, still occasionally unsteady, even when she was being careful, gave way and they lost their balance, and slammed against the wall, which he pinned her to as his mouth sought out her lips.  
"Caesar... Oh, Caesar... I never... Thought... They'd let you... Leave so... Soon..." Almost every single word she uttered was punctuated by a kiss, and it took him a while to reply because he simply didn't want to stop what he was doing, but when he did, he didn't quite meet her eye.  
"I haven't seen Snow yet," he admitted. "He rescheduled the appointment. This is just a quick visit to get us through."  
Willow got the impression there was something he wasn't telling her, but her concern was short-lived as his hands, which had been wrapped tightly around her back, slipped free, rested on her waist momentarily, and then swept upwards to brush teasingly over her breasts. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, and she gasped silently against his mouth as the unexpected jolt of pleasure travelled instantly from her nipples to her core, and he knew she didn't want to wait either.  
"How's your leg?" he murmured against her lips.  
"Better than it was five weeks ago," she answered, swallowing the low moan that escaped from his throat as she slipped a finger into the waistband of his trousers and used it to pull him closer still. She allowed it to rest there for a moment before stroking it across to his hipbone, and then he grunted when she used her thigh to press herself against his growing erection.  
"Where's your room?" he asked thickly, the tone of his voice already indicating they'd been stalling for too long.  
"Up, first door on the right," she muttered, and with one arm wrapped around Willow's waist, Caesar braced himself against the banister with his other hand to support them as he carried her up the wooden staircase, and kicked open the required door.  
He dropped her lightly on the edge of the bed, and paused just long enough to tug off his boots before planting his legs either side of hers, and easing her gently backwards so she was stretched out beneath him. Her arms snaked up around his neck the moment he crawled over her, and she dragged him down so he crushed her into the mattress. He was heavy, but it was a welcome weight as far as Willow was concerned. They'd been waiting for this moment ever since the night the highlight show had premiered, and now it was here, she didn't think she would have the patience to savour it like she'd imagined she would. And it appeared that Caesar was of the same mind, for his fingers were already fumbling with the buttons of her dress, missing one or two altogether in his haste to rid her of the garment.  
His wrists glanced across her nipples occasionally, and by the time he was finally able to pull the top half of her dress open, they were puckered and rosy red, begging for his touch, and he dipped his head to flick his tongue over each of them before taking the right one between his lips so he could suck gently. Her back arched, Willow froze, her fingers pressing into Caesar's shoulders so hard he could feel her perfectly manicured nails piercing through his jacket and his shirt, and without relinquishing his gentle hold, he peered upwards to look at her face.  
Willow's eyes were squeezed closed and her swollen lower lip was caught between her teeth.  
"Are you okay?" he whispered.  
She nodded. "Just sensitive," she answered softly.  
"You want me to stop?"  
"No, never."  
He chuckled low in his throat and moved up to capture her mouth again, his fingers snagging at the hem of her dress and easing it upwards until he could cup a hand around her bare thigh. His fingers trailed lazy, swirling patterns on the silken inner skin, and she moaned and shuddered against him, her own fingers suddenly intent on removing his clothes as quickly as she possibly could. Within seconds they were half stripped of their clothing; Caesar's jacket had disappeared onto the floor, the satin shirt was pooled beside them on the bed, Willow's discarded dress was strewn between the two, and they never did find one of Caesar's socks again. The shimmering fabric of his trousers was straining against his erection, and she slipped an inquisitive finger back into the waistband, this time meeting smooth skin instead of his shirt, which made her hum a little as she caressed his tongue with her own.  
"I've missed you," he whispered, and his hand covered the burning heat of her womanhood over the white cotton briefs she was wearing. She pushed her hips shamelessly towards his palm, her body seeking a firmer, far more intimate touch now, and he pressed a little harder, easily able to feel the dampness within. In response, she flipped open the outer button of his trousers, and then grazed her nails lightly against the solidness through the material.  
Caesar grinned against her mouth. _So, she wanted to play that game, did she?_  
He hooked his fingers through the elastic of one side of her underwear, and slipped it over her hip. She rewarded him by unfastening the inner button, and using her fingers to trace the full length of his erection. He repeated his previous movement with the other side of her panties, and she slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulled down his zipper and brushed the pads of her fingers over his groin. He pulled her underwear down her legs, dropped the item on the floor, and then proceeded to kiss and stroke his way back up her legs to where he knew she wanted him to be.  
She gasped against his mouth the first time his fingers brushed between her legs. He rested there for a moment, and then she groaned in frustration as he moved his hand away, arching her hips into his in the hope she could tempt his fingers to return.  
Caesar needed no such persuasion. His fingers trailed down her thigh one final time, arcing back upwards and slipping deep inside her in one swift, decisive movement, swallowing down her resulting moan of relief.  
He raised his head a little, so their lips were just barely touching, his eyes looking deep into hers.  
"Your turn," he whispered, and she grasped the open waistband of his trousers, easing them down as far as she could reach with her hands, and then her good leg curled up around his to push them the rest of the way.  
"Well played, Miss Monroe," he murmured, and he pressed his lips back onto hers, more gentle this time as his fingers began to move a little inside of her, the pad of his thumb grazing against the tender nub of flesh nestled amongst the slick folds of flesh, and he felt her swallow hard beneath his kisses, her body tightening around his fingers, drawing them in further.  
Willow was beginning to pant now, her own need for satisfaction overriding all the other thoughts in her mind. She could feel his manhood straining urgently against her leg, and she wriggled her hand down between their bodies, suddenly eager to replace his fingers in the burning channel between her thighs.  
Her fingers curled around his erection, slipping over and around it curiously, and Caesar knew that if she carried on much longer he would actually explode in her hand. Breathing heavily, he pulled his mouth away from hers and stammered, "Willow... Willow, I can't wait anymore..."  
She could see in his face, in his beautiful, tortured eyes that he needed her, now, and she wasn't about to argue with him.  
"Okay," she whispered, so softly that it almost sent him over the edge right then and there, but he held himself in check, positioning himself above her, forcing her thighs wider apart with his knees.  
"Is that okay?" he asked hoarsely. "Is your leg alright?"  
She could barely even nod such was the intensity of her desire, and Caesar swallowed heavily as the tip of his manhood grazed at the burning opening between her legs, and he felt his knees go weak, but still he told himself to go slowly, to be gentle with her, but then she gasped, and pushed her hips up to meet his, and he was lost in that instant.  
He began to move inside her, gently at first, but her lack of inhibition excited him too much, and seconds later he was knelt up, holding her legs open with his palms, his fingers pushing into the soft flesh of her inner thighs.  
Willow's head rolled back, her thighs started to quiver, then she began to moan softly, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants, and suddenly Caesar knew what was going to happen. He lunged forward, ready to cup his hand tightly over her parted lips before the first cry escaped her, but then he remembered they didn't have anybody to hide from this time, so he held back and marveled at the exquisite noises she made as she came. At the unexpected movement, those green eyes flew open, gazing deep into his in surprise, and he didn't stiffle his yell as his own climax rushed over him, brought on by the pulsating of her womanhood around his body.  
When he opened his eyes, she was still shuddering a little, but she was gazing intently at him, watching his face as he came down from his orgasm, trying to commit to memory how he'd looked at the peak of his pleasure, and her look of concentration had him transfixed. The slightly glazed expression of satisfaction in her eyes, the flush that had travelled the full length of her body, it captivated him, and he couldn't stop himself leaning down to kiss her again.  
His knees wouldn't hold out anymore, and Caesar fell to the side, rolling onto his back and wrapping an arm around Willow's shoulders. She wriggled closer, resting her head on his chest, relaxing to the gradual slowing of his heart, and then they simply laid there, not asleep and yet not quite awake either. Occasionally, one of them would murmur something and the other would reply, but it didn't really amount to a conversation as such, and that didn't seem to matter to either of them. The feel of one another was enough. The tender kisses he dropped onto her forehead every now and again made her pulse quicken just as easily as his most intimate caress did, and she knew she should tell him what Doctor Hertz had told her, but she didn't want to deepen the intensity of the evening just yet.  
Eventually, though, Caesar confessed that he hadn't eaten since leaving the Capitol, and the couple roused themselves lazily, pulling on the bare minimum amount of clothing they could decently get away with, just in case Willow had any late night visitors. She felt the tightness in her leg the second she stood up, but she succeeded in hiding the wince from him until she had to contend with the staircase, and then she couldn't conceal her discomfort any longer. She brushed aside his concerns, though, insisting it was a dull ache rather than the stabbing agony it had once been.  
"I've not been that active since I got hurt," she said wryly.  
He helped her down the stairs, retrieved the thin metal cane that had previously been relegated to the umbrella stand by the front door, and kept apologising profusely for causing her pain, until she set the cane aside, cupped his cheeks in her fingers, kissed him hard and told him to shut up, which he did, although he continued to shoot her sideways glances as she stood at the stove, watching the grain gently simmer, and heating one of the portions of lamb stew Delta had left for her.  
"Aren't you eating?" he asked, automatically worried the pain in her leg was affecting her appetite, as it had during the early days of her recovery in the hospital.  
"I had something just before you arrived."  
She sat opposite him whilst he ate, surreptitiously picking out dried plums until he pushed the bowl into the centre of the table so he could share his meal with her.  
"No, it's yours!" she exclaimed, but her protests became obsolete the moment she spotted another circle of plum, and from then on, each time he found a piece, he would nudge it over to her side of the dish with his fork, and she would nibble it down with a little smile of thanks.  
She gave him a tour of the house after they'd finished. He described it as quaint, and at her request, he told her about his own residence in the Capitol, ending with the comment that all it was missing to be perfect was her, and she knew then that she had to tell him her news.  
"Caesar," she said, and he stopped talking at the sudden seriousness of her tone, and gazed at her quizzically.  
"Yeah?"  
She made him sit on the sofa, and she perched beside him for a moment, her fingers pleating the hem of her dress, trying to find the right words to tell him that which she needed to explain, but somehow she couldn't whilst he was looking at her so intently, so she stood up again, wandered around the room as she told him, and peered at him around the braid that had worked its way over her shoulder at some point throughout the conversation.  
His reaction wasn't immediate. In fact, for a good minute Caesar was rooted to his seat, rendered immobile by the sheer immensity of the information Willow had just imparted, and she felt the creeping fingers of fear, much like the ones she'd felt when she'd heard the cannon on the day Ash had died, begin to scrabble at her heart.  
Caesar opened his mouth a few times and then closed it again, initially unable to articulate the delight he wished to convey, the happiness he wanted to express; for the third time since Willow Monroe had come into his life, the boy who'd always had an answer for everything physically couldn't speak. So, instead, he grinned, and stood up, watching the terror that had appeared in her eyes at his silence slowly turn into relief when she realised he wasn't angry, or disappointed, or nervous.  
"Really?" he managed to squeeze out.  
She gave a little nod, a shy smile playing around her lips, and then she broke into laughter when he reached her in three strides and gathered her into her arms, lifting her into the air and spinning her round.  
"Really, really?" he asked as he lowered her slowly back down.  
"Really, really," she confirmed, her fingers coming to rest on his chest as she continued to gaze up at him, and he pressed his mouth onto hers, kissing her gently, tenderly, trying to put all the love he felt for her into it, and she strained on her tiptoes to offer him the same thing.

Willow gave Caesar a mock glare, and poked him in the spine with the tip of the hairbrush. Although he was laughing at her glower, his expression was warm as he regarded her reflection.  
Her attempts to mimic his current hairstyle for his journey back to the Capitol were not going well, and she sighed again, annoyed that she was unable to fathom how his stylist managed to achieve the exact same look every day for a year!  
"Just tie it back," Caesar chuckled. "No one will see it."  
Willow exhaled one final time, still unwilling to admit defeat, but she eventually surrendered, gently pulling the brush through his shoulder-length hair, gathering it all into her free hand, and securing it into a ponytail with the black ribbon.  
Yesterday had been the first time she'd ever seen it down, and she had been genuinely surprised by the softness of the jay blue waves. She knew already that his stylist touched up the colour daily, and as he stepped out of the shower the previous night, he had lamented the fact that he had not brought the custom-blended conditioner he usually used with him. At her raised eyebrow, he had added: "I'm very high maintenance," and he'd winked at her.  
They'd curled up together in bed afterwards, like they used to in the hospital. Caesar relaxed back against the pillows, and Willow had automatically tucked herself under his arm, resting her head on his chest, breathing in the citrus scent that still lingered on his skin, and she knew, for certain, that it really was her very favourite place in the world. There were no cameras watching them, nothing to stop the occasional kisses, no chance of someone walking in on them mid-conversation. They were free to talk about whatever they wished, and they had picked the future.  
"It's amazing to think that three months ago, I hadn't even considered any of this... This wasn't they way my life was heading at all..."  
"You'll never resent me for it, will you?" she'd asked, worried for a second.  
"Never," he promised.  
Her fingers lingered in the loose curls of his ponytail for a few moments longer as she recalled the rest of their late night murmurings, and then she slipped an easy arm around his shoulders, bending forward to rest her cheek against the side of his head.  
Caesar's gaze was fixed on Willow's reflection, and they both remained silent as they studied each other in the mirror.  
"You're so beautiful," he murmured eventually, unable to drag his eyes away from hers.  
A blush crept up her neck, flushing her cheeks so she glowed with delight, but she had been rendered speechless by the look of wonder in his eyes, and neither of them were expecting the next words which tumbled from his lips.  
"Marry me."  
At that point, it wasn't so much a question as a statement, but she gasped anyway and stammered:  
"What?"  
"Marry me? As soon as you move to the Capitol?"  
Her eyes grew wide when she started to properly process what he'd said, and he continued to watch her as her mouth began to curve upwards a little.  
"Yes," she whispered against his ear. "Yes!"  
The dazzling smile on his face was all she needed to make her start grinning back, and he took her slim hand in his, pulling her round until she was stood in front of him, wedged between his parted knees and the dressing table. His arms slipped around her hips, pressing her forwards until her belly was leaning against his chest, and then he dipped his head briefly to kiss it before the terrifying splintering of heavy wood shattered the exhilarated silence of the house.  
Maybe four or five pairs of impenetrable-sounding boots thundered around the rooms, pounded up the thick, oak floorboards of the staircase, and the door crashed against the wall as it was shoved open.  
Willow was too scared to even scream, and Caesar stepped instinctively in front of her, even whilst he knew that he was no protection against such a force.  
"Sir? They're here," an excited voice called out. More footsteps on the stairs followed, and then Caesar's eyes widened in horror as an authoritative figure dressed completely in white armour appeared in the open doorway, and he found himself face to face with Darius Casanova.


	24. Wholly His To Command

"Out!" the Capitol's head peacekeeper barked.  
"But, sir - " the soldier protested.  
"I said get out." Darius's voice was dangerously low and clipped, and with a glare, the openly disappointed peacekeeper backed out of the room in disgust, and Darius pushed the door closed in his face.  
"You damn fool..." Darius didn't seem to be angry, Caesar thought. If anything, the expression on his face, the tone of his voice, simply conveyed sadness, and it chilled Caesar to the bone.  
"I was coming back," he whispered. "I was - "  
"It doesn't matter... You left... Without permission..."  
"Darius, please..."  
"I can't help you now, Caesar..."  
The Master of Ceremonies looked frantically around the room, trying to find the words to explain that his leaving hadn't been because he hated the Capitol, that he'd just wanted a few hours with the woman he loved, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, he knew it wouldn't matter what he said, so he merely asked, "What's going to happen?" whilst trying to hide the tremor in his voice.  
Darius wanted to be hard and unforgiving. He wanted to tell Caesar that he had warned him against getting involved with the girl from District 7, but he couldn't seem to force a single reproach past his lips.  
"You're to be escorted back to the Capitol. Miss Monroe will remain here."  
Willow's nails were digging into Caesar's upper arm. He could feel her halting breath against the nape of his neck, and it made him close his eyes.  
What had he done?  
"Caesar...?"  
Her voice was so quiet, so full of questions that he could have dropped to his knees there and then to beg for her forgiveness, but instead he just slowly turned to look at her, unable to offer any explanation, his eyes desperately drinking in her features as he wondered if this would be the last time he would ever see them.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice even smaller than hers had been.  
Her lower lip started to tremble when she finally understood, and devastated tears filled her eyes.  
"No," she choked, starting to shake her head. "No..."  
"We have to go, Caesar."  
Darius could have cried as he watched them; Caesar's forehead resting against Willow's, her fingers clinging to the front of his shirt as her lips repeated the same phrase over and over and over.  
"But we're getting married... We're having a baby..."  
Darius couldn't listen to anymore. Willow was pregnant. And he had to take away her baby's father to who knew what fate. Surely the most Caesar could hope for was following his brother into servitude. Right after they cut out his tongue. After today, it was likely that the boy with the words would never be able to utter another.  
The head peacekeeper wrenched open the bedroom door.  
"Take him," he ordered brusquely.  
Rough hands pulled at Caesar's arms from behind. He didn't struggle against them, somehow knowing that if he did, they'd use Willow as a weapon against him. The only way he had left to protect her was to accept everything the Capitol threw at him without complaint. Maybe that way, she'd be safe...  
They didn't try and push her back when she stumbled after them. The searing pain tearing at her leg was nothing compared to the feeling of her heart being ripped and shredded into an unimaginable amount of pieces as they pulled his unresisting form down the stairs and through the obliterated doorway, dragging him towards the ladder dangling from the humming aircraft that hovered overhead.  
She began to scream his name when they tried to force his fingers to curl around the rungs, and he looked to Darius with a plea in his eyes.  
"Let me say goodbye to her? Please, let me say goodbye?"  
Willow stumbled, her leg giving way a little, and she grabbed at a peacekeeper to steady herself. It was clear to anybody watching that she was simply trying to keep herself upright, but the man swung towards her, the butt of his gun connecting with her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, suddenly lifeless.  
"No! No! Willow? Willow! Willow!" Caesar began to fight then, crying out to her, pleading with her to wake up, desperately trying to claw his way past the peacekeepers to get back to her, and it took three of them to attach his hands to the ladder, which froze him instantly into place. Each peacekeeper was assigned another ladder, and they hauled him into the hovercraft the moment they boarded, shoving him into a metal seat and shackling him to it tightly, standing guard over him as one of the ladders was sent back down for Darius. The head peacekeeper took his own chair, avoiding the anguished eyes of the heartbroken man who had been his best friend for almost two decades, and the last thing Caesar saw before the portal sucked closed was Delta Jones and Vinnie Andrews hurtling across the green towards Willow's inert body.

Coriolanus Snow slowly shook his head with an air of disappointment as he regarded the slightly disheveled figure of his handpicked Master of Ceremonies.  
"Whatever possessed you to leave, Caesar? Did you not have everything you could ever possibly need here? Or was the Capitol no longer big enough for your ego?"  
Caesar knew the president was mocking him. He shouldn't have expected anything less, really, he supposed. He just wished they'd skip the humiliation part and do whatever it was they were going to do to him. He guessed they'd make him an avox, but there were so many other options, that he couldn't be certain. Losing his tongue and his freedom was, in all honesty, the best he could hope for, and death by firing squad was probably the second worst punishment they could dish out. The other options were all ones he'd rather not think about. The Capitol's scientists, in their vast underground laboratories, were always after subjects to test out their latest medicines and machines on, and the peacekeepers' headquarters held no end of torture devices that the odd one or two of them enjoyed trying out on unfortunate prisoners.  
Caesar hadn't even considered that it would end this way for him. He'd genuinely believed that Snow would never find out he'd left. And maybe, if the president hadn't had an unexpected gap in his diary, Caesar's absence never would have been discovered.  
And maybe you just shouldn't have left in the first place...  
"You understand, of course, that your leaving the Capitol could easily be viewed as an act of rebellion?" Snow continued. "And you, of all people, knows what happens to traitors..."  
An avox, then, Caesar thought. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they'd put him in the training centre with Julius. Snow did so like to use what he termed as 'matching sets' wherever he could. And that way, at least, Caesar would be able to see Willow during the Games. Listen to her voice. Sneak glances at those beautiful green gold-flecked eyes. Relive the moments his fingers had threaded through her hair. Remember the all too few times their bodies had molded into one being. Maybe... Maybe he would even be able to glean the odd snippet here and there about the child he had fathered but would never know. He knew that every year he had to watch her from afar would kill him a little more inside, but he would survive it. He would accept anything. For her.  
"Yes, Sir, I know." Caesar sucked in a few shallow breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart as the president regarded him with interest.  
"Why did you leave, Caesar?" he asked, after a long moment's silence.  
Snow knew precisely why Caesar had gone to District 7. Caesar knew that he knew, and Snow knew that Caesar knew that he knew. And yet he still wanted his Master of Ceremonies to say it out loud. Still wanted the younger man to try and justify his unauthorised departure without endangering his own life or that of the woman he loved.  
"I wanted to see for myself how Miss Monroe was doing. She came very close to death after leaving the arena, and I, well, I admit to having certain... feelings... for her, ones that are intense enough for my concerns about her wellbeing to not be satisfied by a phone call and a few video clips."  
"Yes... I have to say, you and Miss Monroe both kept your... attraction... under wraps quite nicely in public... To all those who weren't looking for it, you were simply particularly attentive this year. To those who were, however, you weren't very discreet at all, and whilst our young victor's... misjudgment... over your little flirtation can possibly be excused, yours cannot."  
Caesar was instantly offended that his love for Willow was considered to be little more than a badly misjudged blip in his perfectly planned life. At the blatant dismissal of what he had fallen into.  
"My feelings for Willow run far deeper than a simple flirtation, Sir. Do you honestly believe I'd have risked leaving for that?"  
"Perhaps you should have considered the potential threat to Miss Monroe, too, before you did what did."  
Snow saw the barrage of emotions that rushed across Caesar's face, and Caesar wished his panic hadn't been so obvious, that he'd been able to mask his fear, but it would have been an impossible task, and one Snow never would have believed.  
"She didn't have anything to do with me leaving. She knew nothing until I arrived on her doorstep."  
"Oh, I believe you. However, Head Peacekeeper Casanova reported that there was an incident of her attacking one of his men..."  
Never before in his life had Caesar ever wanted to kill anyone, not even Snow when he had sentenced Julius to servitude. Now, though, a white-hot, passionate anger overtook him, and for a few seconds, all he could envisage were his hands, his flawlessly smooth hands with their perfectly manicured nails, wrapped tight around Darius's throat, his friend's lips slowly turning blue as his life drained away, and the image was so intense that when it vanished, Caesar stared at his fingers in wonder. He shook his head.  
"She didn't! She just stumbled, caught hold of the man to break her fall!"  
"Your defence of her is admirable, if somewhat expected, but it's not going to guarantee her safety, Caesar, you know that, of course?  
"I'll do anything, please don't hurt her."  
And there it was. The plea.  
Coriolanus Snow smiled inwardly in satisfaction, knowing that Caesar Flickerman was now wholly his to command. The blue eyes that bore into those of the terrified Master of Ceremonies were like chips of ice, and Caesar understood then that he was Snow's. Completely. He wasn't going to be made an avox. He wasn't going to face the firing squad, or the doctors medicine trials, nor the peacekeepers' torture devices. The show had to go on. And for the show to go on, it had to have a host. And it would be him. From now until the day he died, Caesar would be laughing bigger and louder than everyone else, selling the state-sanctioned murder of children. Or else, one day, he would find the green-eyed beauty with her curling red hair and glowing porcelain white skin, waiting on him in the Capitol, rendered mute. The avox girl everyone would want because she had been a victor of The Hunger Games.  
Snow had only ever seen Caesar as a quick-witted, albeit cautious, flamboyant presenter. He'd watched him grow from boy to man in that role. His innate sense of character telling him what questions to ask each tribute. To Snow, Caesar was just some rich kid from a prominent Capitol family who could talk the talk. Snow had never seen him as a teenager standing back to back with his brother in the schoolyard, being circled by the mob of ten boys who had assaulted his younger cousin. Hadn't watched the pair take down all of them. He would never know that Caesar was just as proficient with all those weapons in the training centre as the tributes themselves were. He didn't know the fierce protectiveness that bound Caesar to those he loved.  
"Tonight, Caesar, you'll be making a special broadcast. One that tells Panem that nobody is impervious to might and the will of the Capitol. That rebels will be punished."  
Maybe the president had anticipated some type of argument, maybe he hadn't been expecting Caesar to acquiesce so easily, or perhaps he'd had this planned all along, but the moment the word 'punished' began to reverberate around the room, half a dozen peacekeepers armed with batons pushed their way through the door and manhandled Caesar away.  
"Not so badly that he's incoherent whilst he's on air," the president called after them, and then, almost as an afterthought, "And not his face, either!"

Perhaps the trip had not been entirely necessary, Snow thought, as he settled himself into the chair behind the mahogany desk in Delta Jones's study, but he couldn't bare the thought of missing Willow Monroe's expression of horror when she realised what Caesar had endured. When the understanding hit her that, if she valued her own life and that of her lover, she was his. Maybe she would be a little more impulsive with her words than Caesar had been. The Master of Ceremonies had been playing politics for years. Their latest victor, however, had no idea about the intricacies of running the state.  
The president gave her chance to come round properly before he sent one of his men to fetch her. She wouldn't be any kind of fun at all if she were still half-unconscious during their time together.  
He saw her slight hesitation as she entered the room, could see that she knew she was in serious trouble because the president of Panem himself had left the Capitol to personally speak with her, and he smiled in welcome.  
"Miss Monroe," he greeted silkily. "How's the head?"  
Willow had come across plenty of dangerous animals in the forest before. Bears. Wolves. All creatures that one needed a level head to deal with, but all pretty similar in their behaviour. None that she had met had ever gone in for the attack. Snakes, though, were another thing altogether. It took a more seasoned eye to differentiate between the sub-species. Some looked and sounded lethal, but were, all in all, utterly harmless. Some, though, were deadly, and that was how Willow decided she should treat Snow. As one of those poisonous reptiles. She remained motionless, her eyes never leaving his, sickened by his proximity to those she had come to care for so deeply. Delta, Vinnie, little Ivana.  
"Painful," she admitted, surprised to find her voice, whilst a little rusty through lack of use, was more level than she had thought would be possible.  
"I'm sure a good night's sleep will cure it," Snow answered assuredly.  
Willow seriously doubted she would ever have a good night's sleep again.  
"What can I do for you, President Snow?"  
"Sit down, please?"  
Willow shuddered at how casually he offered her a chair in a house that was not his own. At his familiar use of a home that belonged to neither of them. And it only served to remind her that ultimately, he did actually have every right to occupy it. Because they all lived in the Victor's Village, Delta, Vinnie and herself, for no other reason than his good graces.  
Willow perched on one of the chairs in front of the desk, sitting straight-backed, her hands laced loosely in her lap, just like her mother had taught her a lady should sit.  
"I have a problem, Miss Monroe," Snow began. "A problem that began the moment Caesar Flickerman stepped onto a train and left the Capitol." He paused but Willow said nothing. "Such a situation is concerning, don't you think? I mean, if one of the nation's brightest stars willingly leaves our great city, what does that say about us? If someone from the Capitol can flout its rules and walk away unharmed, what is to prevent others trying to do the same?"  
A chill unlike anything Willow had ever felt before coursed through her veins as the veiled confession sank in.  
"Where is Caesar?"  
"In fact," Snow continued, openly ignoring her fearful question. "My advisors consider Caesar's disappearance to be quite the act of rebellion..."  
There was a long pause whilst Willow considered the ruler of Panem. How she hated him... He loved playing these games, she could tell; they entertained him far better than anything the gamemakers could dream up. He wanted her to beg for information of Caesar's fate. Would he tell her, she wondered, if she pleaded? Or was he the type of person who would eventually tell her anyway, because that was what he'd come here for, to see her reaction?  
"Caesar just fell in love, President Snow. He's no rebel. He adores the Capitol!"  
"On the contrary, Miss Monroe, Caesar is the most dangerous type of rebel there is - the kind who doesn't realise he's rebelling."  
Willow suddenly found herself fighting her gag reflexes, though surprisingly, it was not the president's words that had set it off, but rather the conflicting scents of roses and fresh blood that had begun assaulting her nostrils since the moment she had entered the study, and it now became overwhelming to her delicate stomach. She sucked it down. Snow must not find out that she was pregnant. Not yet. Not ever, if she had her way, but definitely not yet. The rose bud in the president's lapel explained the sickly sweet smell, although it had to be genetically enhanced, for no real rose reeked like that. The blood, though...  
At that very moment, the television that projected onto the empty wall opposite the study window blared into life, and Snow made a big show of checking his pocket watch.  
"Ah, right on time," he purred, and smiled with an air of distinct satisfaction as he glanced across the desk to watch the victor's face. Now she would see what her love had cost Caesar Flickerman...  
Willow knew right away, without a shadow of a doubt, that this unscheduled broadcast was for her benefit. Caesar was on the screen. His makeup was perfect, his hair elaborately coiffed once again, and he was back in the sparkling midnight blue suit that should have been placed to the rear of his closet for another ten months. To the rest of the country, it was simply a suit. To Willow, it represented The Hunger Games; it represented the moment that she and Caesar, without a word being said, had announced their partnership to the nation. That single gesture told her that she was still in the Games, that her new arena was Panem, and Coriolanus Snow was the head gamemaker.  
There was something infinitely wrong about the image before her. It wasn't simply that his spirit had been broken. There was something more than that. Caesar was displaying none of his usual fluidity, in fact, he was almost motionless, and deathly pale beneath his fake tan. And his eyes... Oh, his eyes...  
Willow couldn't move. She was transfixed to the screen, to his strained face, to the numb anguish in those beautiful dark eyes. To anyone else, he could just be particularly sombre, suggesting he had a very important, poignant message to impart, but to her, who had spent two solid weeks learning his every expression, watching the ease with which he moved, she knew something was terribly wrong. He looked like he hardly even dared to breathe.  
"- that not a single person in Panem is impervious to the law of the land. Any rulebreakers, rebels or traitors will be severely punished." Caesar's eyes held steady on the camera, but there was little life in them. He appeared close to collapse, and Willow wondered, terrified, if that would be the last time she would ever see him.  
The national anthem played the broadcast out, and then as suddenly as he'd appeared, Caesar was gone.  
"What did you do to him?" she whispered hoarsely, not meeting Snow's eyes, lest he see the tears in hers.  
"Caesar needed some... persuading... to make the broadcast, Miss Monroe. There shouldn't be too much lasting damage, though."  
Snow rose, tucking the chair in neatly behind him.  
"Needless to say, your relationship with Mr Flickerman is now at an end. After the victory tour, where you will be just as charming to one another as you were during the Games, you will return to District 7 and live quietly. If you don't, I have some rather interesting torture devices nearing completion that I may just have to test out on our beloved Master of Ceremonies. Publicly. With you as the guest of honour."  
Willow didn't watch Snow leave. She heard the car pull away, and just like that, he was gone. Taking the entire future she'd had planned with him. There would be no move to the Capitol, no wedding. Her baby would never know its father. Caesar was lost to her, and she to him. She didn't know where he was, nor what had happened to him, and perhaps that information would always elude her. The only thing she knew was that he was still alive, and he would be presenting the Victory Tour as usual.  
"Oh, Caesar..." she whispered to the empty room, and then she wept, quiet, heartbroken gasps of defeat.

_So, this was what heartbreak felt like..._  
The doctors had gradually started weaning Caesar off the morphling that had kept him comatose for the past week, and they told him that he'd slept through the worst of the pain. They had only been talking about the physical agony, however, not the constant ache of his heart. That was something else altogether. The only thing that could cure that, though, was Willow, and she was the only thing that was denied to him. Otherwise, he was being offered all the comforts of home.  
It had shocked him when he'd woken up to see Franklin Hertz hanging over him, and for several minutes, he'd been convinced that Willow should be there, not him, until he'd started to recall snippets of the previous week's events. And the surgeon had filled in the rest.  
After his national broadcast regarding the punishment of rebels, two of President Snow's personal bodyguard had delivered Caesar and another man to the hospital under the training centre. He had been unconscious. The other man had been screaming at the top of his lungs that he was innocent of any act of rebellion.  
"Of course, they all say that," Hertz had commented flatly, suggesting that it was, all too often, true.  
It had taken a good while for Caesar to realise that he was being treated in the same room that Willow had used just a few short weeks ago. The same staff were attending him. And Hertz himself had pieced Caesar's knee back together with metal pins, surveyed his broken ribs and set his arms in plaster. The bruising that covered him from shoulders to ankles hadn't faded much yet, and Caesar easily resembled any one of the victors Hertz had had to patch up and make pretty again.  
Caesar remembered everything now. His unauthorised trip to District 7. The baby. Darius and his squad of peacekeepers. The audience with Snow. The president threatening Willow's life. The beating that had followed. Batons, boots, helmeted heads, armoured fists: Snow's insistence that his face be spared had probably saved his life.  
It was at the end of his second week in hospital that Caesar discovered who the other man was, the one who had been brought to the centre screaming. Caesar didn't recognise him at first. He looked different now, as he served the Master of Ceremonies his lunch. Cropped hair, a plain red outfit that denoted him as an avox. Reproachful eyes. And then Caesar knew. The train attendant he had bribed to smuggle him out of the Capitol.  
Any attempt to interact, any move made towards the avox would instantly result in a punishment for the man, so Caesar just stared at him, hoping he could convey an apology. Snow had so obviously placed the man here for Caesar's benefit. Just like he'd sent him to the training centre hospital, under the same caregivers as Willow had had. It was a design that showed Caesar that he would never be safe. That he could be gotten to anywhere. And so could Willow. It all served as a reminder that Willow's life depended on Caesar doing exactly as he was told.  
Caesar's injuries would heal. The bruises would fade and disappear. His knee, whilst held together with metal pins, would soon work perfectly again, and nobody would know what he'd endured at Snow's command. Nobody could know that he loved Willow Monroe with all his heart and soul. Nobody could know that he'd fathered her unborn child.  
And nobody could _ever _know that his own personal Hunger Games was now beginning.

END OF PART ONE.


	25. The Victory Tour

PART TWO - HAVING SOMEONE TO FIGHT FOR MAKES YOU STRONG

One hour. That was how long she had until Chilton Meadows, Juno, and Catia and Cassia arrived. And it wouldn't be just them, either. Dozens of reporters, camera crews, an entire staff to cater to her every need and whim on the upcoming fourteen day journey across Panem.  
"How am I going to do this?"  
It wasn't the first time Willow had asked her mentor that question over the course of the past few weeks, and Delta very much doubted it would be the last, but she still couldn't give The Hunger Games' most recent victor a helpful or satisfactory answer to that all-consuming question.  
"We'll get through it together. I'll be right beside you the whole time," Delta promised.  
Willow hated the skepticism that pierced her thoughts at the words that were supposed to be comforting. She'd heard the phrase already this year, right before her victory interview, and the person who'd said it was now lost to her. _Oh, stop it, Willow_, she berated herself, more to stop the tears falling than anything else. She wept so easily these days. The doctor insisted it was hormonal, but Willow knew differently. They had started falling one awful afternoon in the middle of July, and it seemed as though they'd never completely dried up since then. And in far too short a time, she would come face to face with the cause of those tears.  
Willow had been dreading this day for months. In three hours time, after undergoing intense prepping and primping for the Victory Tour, she had to step out of her front door and greet the entire country with laughs and waves, knowing that _he_ was going to be watching her. Recalling the last time he had seen her, remembering the last time he had been in District 7. And in fourteen days, she would be in the Capitol, smiling at Caesar Flickerman as though he was nothing more to her than the Master of Ceremonies, as though he hadn't fathered the baby that now swelled her belly, as though a squad of peacekeepers hadn't broken into her home, dragged him from her arms, taken him back to the Capitol and beaten him to within an inch of his life.  
How the hell _was_ she going to do this?  
She still didn't know, but she did understand that she had to, that Caesar's life quite possibly depended on her acting skills, just as hers was linked to his. He, however, had had a lot more practice at it than she had, and she genuinely didn't know if she was brave enough to get through it without him beside her. She hadn't really done any of this alone, not the public aspect of things, at least. Right from the tribute parade, he'd been there, supporting her from the sidelines, and then from her very first interview, he'd literally held her hand and waltzed her through everything. Even when she'd been mad at him. Was she actually even capable of pulling this off alone?  
_Well, not quite alone, hey Willow.._.  
The victor glanced up from her teacup and peered across the table at Delta Jones and Vinnie Andrews. Her mentors. Her saviours. Two of just a small handful of people who knew about the horrible twist her life had taken since President Snow's private visit, and the two people who had physically picked her up and cared for her when she'd been knocked unconscious by that peacekeeper. What would she have done without them? What would she do without them now?

Strategically placed midway between the annual Hunger Games, the Victory Tour was the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh in the eyes of the nation. The victor had to travel from district to district, to celebrate their win with the cheering crowds who naturally, albeit secretly, hated them for killing their children.  
If she was honest, Willow's journey wasn't too bad to begin with. They arrived in District 12, where the tour officially began, in good time, despite the smattering of snow that lay on the tracks. Catia and Cassia helped her shower again, fussed around her bump once more, made her up for the second time that day, and then Juno was there with her outfit draped over one arm. Fitted green trousers tucked into chunky brown boots, a warm top and a fur-lined cape that covered her from neck to mid-thigh, thus successfully eliminating any sign of her pregnancy, for which Willow was exceedingly grateful.  
The celebrations weren't over the top in 12, a simple victory rally in the square with a speech from the victor and a pleasant but not overly elaborate dinner with the mayor and other high-ranking officials were about it, before they boarded the train again, and headed for District 11.  
11 was vastly different to 12, and security was tight, really tight, Willow thought in awe as they passed through a tunnel and the track was suddenly surrounded by high voltage, barbed wire fences. It was a big district, though, which probably accounted for the extra security measures. It was quite possibly even larger than 7, because it was the agricultural centre of Panem. Everything those in the Capitol ate originated from this district. It was much warmer, too, the trees were still green, the harvests lush and ready, but when they entered the town square, despite the obvious effort to make the place seem joyful, it was easy to see that the buildings were starting to fall into disrepair, that this once-beautiful place was unloved, and slowly crumbling to chalky ashes.  
The air of festivity increased slowly as the party moved ever closer to the Capitol. The districts became brighter, the crowds hid their sullenness easier, the speeches became longer, the banquets more and more extravagant. They missed out 7. As Willow's home district, the final celebration would be held there, the day after the Victory Ball in the Capitol, and it wasn't until she arrived in District 2, where Ava had lived, that Willow felt the carefully concealed fury of the populace.  
Ava. The career who had tortured and murdered Ash. The girl whom Willow had silently stalked and slain. The victor saw her in her nightmares, she killed her over and over again, almost everytime she went to sleep.  
1, Jewel's home, if possible, was even worse. The crowds chanted Willow's name, but there was a death cry in their tone, and that night, when they sped away from the district, the victor had her very first nightmare from which she couldn't independently wake. Delta heard her terrified shrieks and went running, found her writhing in the centre of the bed, her arms clasped around her swollen belly, tears staining her face, still asleep, trapped in some horrific dreamworld from which she couldn't escape by herself.  
Willow awoke screaming Caesar's name, her fingers clutching at Delta's hands, and the look of unimaginable fear in her eyes scared the mentor more than she cared to admit.  
Delta stayed with her until the dawn broke through, and then the weary pair staggered through to the dining car, where Delta knocked back three cups of strong coffee, and Willow attempted to brighten herself up with several glasses of fruit juice.  
The mentor watched the victor closely as the train approached the Capitol, noting the shadows beneath those bright green eyes, the unnatural palor of her already pale skin. Could Willow really pull this off, she wondered. Would she _really_ be able to meet Caesar Flickerman without giving herself, him, any of them, away?

They met backstage before Willow's penultimate Victory Tour interview. It was just a few brief, haunting moments alone together, a pause barely adequate enough for them to say hello, but more than enough time for them to clasp hands tightly, desperately, and then Caesar had to continue onto the stage, take his seat and attempt to calm his racing heart and jumbled thoughts enough to pull off this show.  
His theme tune began to play. He'd learned to hate it over the last few months. Somebody - no prizes for guessing who - had insisted he watch the reruns whilst he was in hospital, day after day after day, when he was unable to get away from it. The mutt attacking Willow. Ash's death. Willow killing Ava. Her fight to the death with Jewel. Now he could almost hear the dying cries of the tributes in the upbeat tempo.  
_The show must go on, Caesar! _  
Caesar forced that dazzling white grin onto his face, threw back his head and laughed.  
_Bigger and louder than everyone else._  
"Welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome!"  
_So that the beautiful girl with her curling red hair and porcelain white skin would be safe from harm._  
She'd been trembling when he welcomed her onto the stage. He guessed he had been, too, but he didn't really remember. All he could think was that he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her for the rest of his life. He didn't, of course. In fact, he took the extreme precaution of forcing his fingers to release hers just as soon as he had her settled comfortably in her chair. He knew how intently Snow would be watching them at that moment.  
Willow's pregnancy was so obvious under the harsh lights of the stage, despite Juno's best efforts to make it less apparent. It hadn't been publicly mentioned at all throughout her tour of the districts, but after her thankyou speech upon her arrival in the Capitol, President Snow had examined her with interest and personally congratulated her on it, and that had left Caesar with no option but to express his own pleasure at the impending arrival whilst simultaneously pretending it was nothing to do with him. It pained him more than he would have ever believed was possible.  
How well had she dealt with this on her own, he wondered? She seemed healthy and alert enough, Caesar thought, but then, so did he. And he was wearing more makeup these days than he'd ever had to use before, off-stage as well as on now, to cover the darkening shadows beneath his eyes, to try and hide the deepening lines on his face. He'd already been given an appointment for facelift surgery. He'd insisted that he wanted Franklin Hertz to perform the operation, and Snow had consented, providing Caesar used the training centre hospital. Caesar considered that maybe that should disturb him, but he really wasn't bothered by the thought of returning to that building. It was almost like a self-inflicted penance.  
The entire interview was, in Caesar's opinion, absolutely awful. He was probably one of the most competent actors in Panem - he was certainly the best presenter - but even with everything riding on him staying focused, he wasn't convinced he'd managed it very well. Why the president hadn't let them meet privately before shoving them on stage in front of the entire nation, Caesar didn't know. He could only assume it was a test of his abilities to ignore his feelings for the victor. To him, his questions seemed too obvious, Willow's answers too contrived, and there was none of the easy chatter of her previous interview.  
She played her part well, though. He voice did shake a little, and it seemed at times as though she were going to reach out to him, but she always managed to hold herself back from doing anything to draw unwanted attention to them.  
They talked about what she had been doing since their last (official) meeting: She'd learned how to whittle from Delta Jones's husband, one of the Capitol's chefs had visited her in 7 and had given her cookery lessons. She'd read, she'd written, she'd helped out at the factory - Caesar felt the familiar cold, hard rush of jealousy spark within him when he realised she'd been near Lane Collins. She'd even worked in the lumber offices in order to allow the foreman to go out and do the physical labor. It was almost as though she would have done anything just to keep from sitting in that house alone.  
"You sound like you've been very busy," Caesar commented with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.  
"It's the only thing that staves off the awful dreams," she admitted quietly, and there was the briefest pause imaginable in which he understood that her nightmares usually involved him.  
"You're not the first to say that," he revealed softly.  
They chatted a little more, mainly about the Victory Tour and then it was time for them to sign off. They clasped hands, and he raised her arm above her head, and the roaring crowds clapped and cheered and whistled, blithely unaware that their newest victor was actually on the verge of collapse.  
There were peacekeepers waiting in the wings, just out of sight, to ensure Willow didn't get a moment alone to talk to Caesar. They hustled her and her little team away, and as Caesar watched them depart, he wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to talk to her properly again.

Despite Caesar's own misgivings over his performance, it appeared to have pacified Coriolanus Snow. The president, holding court on the balcony that overlooked the banquet room, sent for him midway through the Victory Ball, and the pair stood together at the balustrade, looking out over the dancers on the floor below them.  
"You've performed well so far, Caesar," the president mused. "Perhaps I could see fit to lift the ban on the two of you meeting to allow you a dance with our lovely Miss Monroe..."  
Caesar's eyes shot up to meet Snow's gaze. The was no compassion in the look, merely a calculating examination, and Caesar felt a cold shudder creep along his spine.  
"Hmm," Snow decided. "You should go and request Miss Monroe's hand for a dance, Caesar."  
Caesar knew it was a command, not a suggestion, but even understanding that, he still hesitated; the memory of being torn away from Willow, that threatening conversation with Snow, the peacekeepers' assault, they were all still so very fresh in his mind, but the president was giving him a look that said declining simply wasn't an option.  
Caesar straightened up.  
"Yes, Sir," he gulped, the edge of a tremor in his voice.  
He turned on his heel, took a deep breath, and then he began to cautiously head across the room to where Willow was standing with Delta Jones and Juno, fully expecting half a dozen peacekeepers to grab him at any given moment, for them to slam him to the ground and beat him to death with their batons and their boots. And it appeared that, for a moment, at least, Caesar's concern was valid, for, from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white uniform heading towards him, and he steeled himself for the attack.  
_Please don't make her watch me die..._  
But the onslaught never came. The peacekeeper stepped away with a curt nod of his head, and Caesar knew instinctively that the president had indicated the man should back off, and he almost slumped with relief.  
She really was just so beautiful, Caesar marvelled, as he approached Willow. Her porcelain white skin glowed with health, the bright red hair - still a popular Capitol fashion statement since her victory in The Hunger Games - tumbled in soft waves down her back, the front section was plaited in skinny braids and held back from her face with a silver clip. The flowing skirt of the emerald green dress rippled around her legs as she moved, and then she turned and Caesar finally got the full effect of the sculpted upper half of the outfit. It was strapless, hugging her breasts perfectly, the merest hint of cleavage visible, and no one could fail to notice the way it clung softly around her stomach, caressing the bump that contained the life they had created together.  
The Master of Ceremonies forced himself to keep walking, knowing the president must be watching his every move, understanding that any hesitation, any hint that something wasn't as it appeared, could result in that tiny life being taken away. Snow hadn't said a word concerning her now obvious pregnancy, but he must be aware that the child Willow carried was Caesar's, and he would know how desperate Caesar would be to protect not only the woman he loved, but their baby too.  
She saw him coming, and he watched the mixture of elated terror flood into her eyes. He gave a barely perceptible nod that he hoped would let her know it was okay, that he was authorised to be in her presence, and he stopped directly in front of her, shielding her momentarily from the president's line of vision, and he gave her a sad smile that failed to reach his eyes.  
"Fancy meeting you here," he said weakly.  
"Do you come here often?" she counteracted shakily.  
"Willow - " The tears hadn't come for a few days now. Caesar had thought he was all cried out, but the droplets were brimming in his eyes now, large and imminent as they stood face to face, pressed as close as they could decently get without arousing suspicion, the prominent swell of her belly resting against him. "Snow says we have to dance," he managed to choke out.  
When they were settled in the hold of the dance, Caesar couldn't stop himself staring down between their bodies as he felt movement against his abdomen, and he lifted his hand a little, as though to touch her, but then he clearly thought the better of it. She snatched up his fingers, though, interlacing them with her own and laying them where she herself had always felt the most action.  
As though sensing its father's presence, the child within began to wriggle around and push outwards, and Caesar felt the activeness with equal amounts of captivation and trepidation, but eventually his fascination, and the utter love he already felt for his unborn son or daughter, won out, and he ran his hand tenderly across Willow's stomach, pressing gently back in response to their baby's movements.  
"What did they do to you after you left 7?" she blurted out, and they both glanced around surreptiously the moment the words left her mouth. Every single person on the dancefloor, though, was caught up in their own little world, and Caesar debated as to whether or not he should lie. What would telling her about his beating and subsequent hospital stay achieve?  
"Not much," he evaded. "They brought me back here, and took me straight through to see Snow."  
"What did he say?"  
Caesar lowered his head, desperately wanting to rest his forehead against hers, but not quite daring to.  
"He asked me why I left, told me my leaving could be seen as an open act of rebellion... suggested that my defence of you being innocent of having anything to do with what I did may not be enough to guarantee your safety..."  
"And after that?"  
"I made the broadcast. I'm sure he made you watch it."  
Willow nodded, and a lump formed in her throat as she recalled the bulletin Snow had devised especially for the benefit of herself and Caesar.  
"Your eyes..." she whispered, and then she asked again, "What did they do to you? To make you do the broadcast? Snow said you needed 'persuading'."  
"I was ready to do the broadcast. After the threat to your life, I was ready to do whatever it took to keep you safe. But he clearly felt he needed to teach me a physical lesson too."  
"They hurt you, didn't they?" she asked, in that small voice she had used when the peacekeepers had arrived in 7.  
He didn't look her in the eye when he nodded.  
"How badly?"  
"Willow, you don't need to kno- "  
"Yes, I do! Everytime I go to sleep, when I'm not watching myself murder Jewel or Ava, or, in the really twisted dreams that I have, Ash, my nightmares are about you, and what they did to you to give that look in your eyes... I know you, Caesar, I've watched you... What did they do to you?"  
Caesar understood why she thought she needed to know, but that didn't stop him feeling totally emasculated as he admitted what had happened to him. He left out a few of the more gruesome details, namely that the peacekeeper who had found them all those months ago had been hellbent on destroying something about him, and that that something had been his knee. He didn't tell her that it was now only held together by metal pins and Franklin Hertz's expertise at rebuilding things from nothing, and neither did he tell her about the avoxed train attendent, for the guilt he felt over that was still sometimes unbearable. Some nights he imagined the man was lurking outside his home, waiting for his opportunity to take revenge, but he was almost certain that that was only his overly wild imagination playing tricks on him.  
"Oh, Caesar," she murmured, "What did I do to you?"  
The tears that had subsided sprang into Caesar's eyes again, and his fingers tightened around her hand.  
"This was _not_ your fault," he whispered fiercely. "Don't you ever believe that."  
"It is. If I'd have just sent you away that first night..."  
"If I'd never sent you that rose; if I'd listened to Vee, and Darius, and Julius before you went into the arena; if I'd never have gotten on that stupid train... It wasn't your fault, Willow. If it was anyone's, it was mine, but I'd still do it all over again."  
"Do you still love me?"  
"Always," he promised.  
"Me, too," she mouthed as the dance ended, and a peacekeeper appeared behind him, walking him to the edge of the dancefloor and up the wide staircase to where Coriolanus Snow still stood at the balustrade, a smug smile curving his overly plump lips.


End file.
